


In Sickness and In Health

by Stisaac



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nobody knows, Sick Fic, sad mitch, sad story is sad story, sick Scott, where it stops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8416516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stisaac/pseuds/Stisaac
Summary: Mitch wasn't really one to toss the words “always” and “never” around as carelessly as others did, but he always imagined Scott by his side, even when they were one hundred and ten. He never imagined that at just twenty-five, Scott’s heart would give out. His heart. His freaking heart. It was so laughably stupid. So inconceivable. The organ that pumped blood through his body, giving him life, just quit. One day it worked and the next day it didn't. Cardiomyopathy was the official diagnosis though Mitch prefers to call it The Most Unfair Thing to Ever Exist. The memory plays out just like a movie scene every time Mitch closes his eyes.





	1. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am such fandom trash, it’s not even funny. I can’t focus on anything and everything just winds up left unfinished and ugh, I am so sorry for that. But. Alas, here we are all the same.
> 
> I’ve been a fan of Pentatonix for almost three years. Ever since that glorious, perfect cover of Little Drummer Boy first went viral. I think I would have managed to resist the urge to write fan fiction had it not been for that blasted YouTube channel called Superfruit. I say this fondly, but seriously, Scott and Mitch kill me and there is a sorry lack of stories that do justice to their beautiful relationship. Soooo, I’m gonna stop rambling because I do too much of that these days.
> 
> I decided to tell this story through a 100 Word Prompt Challenge I found online. For those who are interested, here is the list: http://writers-haven.tumblr.com/post/94710565883/so-im-doing-the-100-prompts-challenge-thing  
> So without, further adieu, let us begin.

**I.  Beginnings.**

 

Scott looks terrible and it's not just the lighting. His skin has a greyish cast to it and his normally sharp blue eyes are dulled by pain. Every time he lifts the microphone to his lips his hand trembles a little bit more, and the way he leans against the stool behind him wasn't part of the rehearsal script. He keeps missing notes or coming in late, and his voice sounds unusually weak. Mitch is so used to seeing him fight through his illnesses so this is all really different, and if he's being perfectly honest, more than a little scary.

He can tell the others are on the same page as he is from the quick glances they keep stealing his way. But they have two more songs to get through before the intermission so there's an unspoken agreement to press on and. . . and then what? They'll cross that bridge when they get to it, but Mitch can't imagine Scott going back out there in his condition.

At least these two songs, “Say Something” and “Run to You” are both more subdued and led by Kirstie and Avi. Scott's voice sounds more strained with each passing second and Mitch doubts he could handle anything more than background vocals right. He's struggling.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mitch watches closely as Scott lowers the microphone to breathe deeply, but even that seems more difficult than it should be. He bends down to retrieve his water bottle only to have it slip through his fingers the moment he straightens up again. That's when it clicks.

Something is really wrong.

But it's too late. Before the thought finishes processing in Mitch's mind, Scott goes down. It happens so fast that anyone who blinked would have missed it. He sways once and then he just collapses as if he's a puppet whose strings have suddenly been cut. He falls hard and fast, making no attempt to catch himself, and his head hits the stage floor with a sickening thud.

They all stop singing instantly, and in the split second of silence before the crowd reacts, Mitch is almost certain he can hear a piece of him shatter. The cries of concern drown his voice out as he calls out his friend’s name and stumbles on shaky legs to go to his side.

“Scott!”

He's not moving. He's so unnaturally still that Mitch's brain, desperate to protect him from the reality, wonders if it's really him. Scott's never this still, not even when he's sleeping.

“Scott. Hey, can you hear me?” Kevin reaches Scott at the same time as Mitch, dropping to his knees and placing his hand on Scott's shoulder. “Scott?”

“Scott?” Dimly, Mitch can hear the concerned murmur throughout the arena, and someone backstage must have turned on all the lights because everything is suddenly brighter. But except for the voices of his friends crowding around him, everything else seemed faint and muffled, like he's lost in a tunnel, and he can only see Scott who still isn't moving.

“Scotty,” Kevin repeats, a picture of perfect calm. The only thing that betrays him is a slight tremor in his hand as he reaches down to pat Scott lightly on the cheek.  “Hey, man.  Can you hear me?  Can you open your eyes?”  

“What’s wrong, what happened?”  Kirstie demands wildly as she and Avi join them.  “Did he trip?  Did he-”

“He just passed out,”  Mitch says hollowly.  He can’t his eyes off of Scott’s face.  He’s so, so pale.  He didn’t know someone could be so pale without being dead.

Oh god.

“Is he-”  He chokes on the rest of the question, fear threatening to swallow him whole.  A team of medics swarms them and he finds himself being pushed out of the way, further away from Scott.  Panic swells up inside of him and he can’t breathe.

“Mitch,”  Kevin is holding onto him, arms strong and sure.  “He’s breathing.  He’s breathing.”

“What’s wrong with him then?”  Mitch fires back, shaking so hard that he’s confident Kevin is the only reason he’s still in one piece.  “Why wouldn’t he wake up?”

He passed out.  People pass out all the time, don’t they?  But why?  When it’s really hot.  They’re inside though, so why else?  When they’re incredibly tired.  That is far more likely.  They’ve all been exhausted and sick because it’s part of the program.  A necessary evil.  Show business.  And the show must go on, right?  So why isn’t he waking up?  As far as Mitch can tell, he’s still unconscious.  

“Mitch, I promise you that I saw he was breathing,”  Kevin tells him quietly.  He’s directly in front of him now, blocking the medics and Scott from his view, but somehow he doesn’t panic further.  “But now I’m worried about you.  Now it’s your turn to breathe, okay?”

Breathe.  So easy to say, yet nearly impossible to do.  His vision is starting to get fuzzy at the edges and his chest is hurting like it does when he has a panic attack.  He _can’t_ have a panic attack right n _ow._ Scott needs him.  

 _Pull it together, Mitch._ His inner voice isn’t bold and confident like it usually is.  It’s small and stupid and scared and he hates it.  He hates the tears that are crowding in the backs of his eyes, blurring his vision even more.  He hates the muffled sounds of everything around him.  Hates the tightening in his chest that’s only getting worse.  

He looks over Kevin’s shoulder to see that Scott still hasn’t moved, though now the medics are shifting him onto a gurney.  Avi is saying something about the hospital, which honestly sounds like a foreign word to him right now because _what?_ Scott can’t be going to the hospital.  Scott is the only one who really knows how to help Mitch through his panic attacks.  He can’t-

_This isn’t about you, Mitch._

No.  No it’s not. It’s about Scott.  But they’re so connected that everyone who knows them jokes about how difficult it is to tell where one ends and the other begins.  Joined at the hip.  Inseparable.  Scott once said he couldn’t go thirty seconds without Mitch and though it was meant as a joke, it was closer to the truth.

It’s been way longer than thirty seconds.  

“Mitch, please.”  Kirstie’s voice is tearful and it jerks Mitch back away from the edge of completely losing his sanity.  “We need you.  They’re taking Scott in now.  They- they’re leaving and we need to follow the ambulance.  Please.  Scott. . . he needs you too, Mitch.”

Mitch nods, feeling very much like a bobblehead doll.  “Okay,” he breathes at last.  “Okay.”

“Okay?”  Kevin repeats, eyeing him closely.  

 _No.  It’s not okay._ The only way it could possibly be okay would be if Scott was right next to them right now and they were singing and the crowd was singing along with them instead of being asked to leave amidst a flurry of activity both on and off the stage.  But Scott. . .

Scott isn’t here.  Mitch shoots to his feet so fast that his head spins.  “Scott,” he gasps.  “Where-”

Avi is staring backstage, unblinking and so still that Mitch isn’t so sure he’s aware of them until he speaks.  “They took him,” he says quietly.  There’s something in his tone though, something that holds them back for a heartbeat before they try to follow.  They stare at him, waiting.  It comes to fast and seems like an eternity all at once.  “I heard one of them say something about his heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already working on the second and third bit of this, and then I need to figure out where I'm going and how I'm getting there. I also have quite a bit of research to do though so bear with me. The good news is that these are mostly going to be short-ish little bits so it makes it much less intimidating. We'll see!


	2. Middles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update already, what kind of magic is this? Halloween magic, probably, not gonna lie. It certainly has nothing to do with me. 
> 
> Ummmm, is this a bad time to mention that none of the families are going to be included in this story? I just. . . want to keep it really simplified -cough- easy -cough- ya know? Help me.

**II. Middles.**

 

He's never been so scared in his entire life.

Mitch is shaking. He can't tell if it's because he's so terrified or if it's because he's so freaking cold. He knows that hospitals are kept at a lower temperature as a way to ward off germs,  but seriously. Does it have to be an ice box?  He’s probably going to lose his teeth they’re chattering so violently.  

“Wh-what’s taking so long?”  he mutters under his breath.  “It’s been hours.”

“Mitch,”  Kevin’s voice is quiet and gentle, his hand on Mitch’s shoulder, light and reassuring.  “It’s only been twenty minutes.”

Impossible.  Mitch wants to scream.  The clocks must have stopped.  He looks at the one mounted on the wall in front of them.  It has got to be past midnight by now.  

9:37.

“I can’t do this,”  Mitch buries his face in his hands, a long and shaky whoosh of air escaping his lungs.  “What’s taking so long?” he repeats.  “Why is it taking so long?  All he did was pass out.  It’s not like this doesn’t happen to everyone now and then.  It happens-”

“Mitch,”  Kirstie speaks up now, sounding scared.  “Please.  Just. . . let’s wait.”

He’s tired of waiting.  Mitch bites his tongue to keep from saying anything more.  He gets mean when he’s scared, but he’s grounded just enough in reality to recognize that everyone is scared and he can’t make it worse.  Besides, they'll all thinking of what Avi said before they left for the hospital. Scott didn't just pass out. The paramedics were worried. Really worried. About his heart. They still have no idea why or what any of it could possibly mean, but Mitch knows that there's an invisible monster lurking in the shadows of their uncertainty. He doesn't want to add to its threat. “Sorry,” he whispers.

In answer, Kirstie reaches out and takes his hand in her own, squeezing it, and it's then that Mitch realizes he isn't the only one who's shaking. He should squeeze back, reciprocate, but his mind is numbed by fear and he can only think it and not follow through.

“He's gonna be okay,” Avi’s voice makes them all jump, not because they forgot he was there, but because he hardly sounds like Avi at all. Breathless and shaky, he sounds more like a scared little kid and when Mitch turns to face him, he sees that he looks the part too. He's pale and his eyes are huge with a barely contained panic. He's nothing like the Avi that was so in control of everything when it all first happened. Ever since he saw the men leave with Scott, he's been painfully quiet and it's incredibly unnerving.

No one, it turns out, is insusceptible to falling apart. Nor is anyone immune to the desperation that is denial. They say it even if they don't feel it or believe it. He's going to be okay. Say it enough times and it'll become true. He's going to be okay. Because he has to be okay.

Kirstie lifts his hand up, cradling it in both of hers now. “You're picking your nails again,” she comments, gently smoothing her fingers over the fraying skin at the base of Mitch's fingernails. “You haven't picked your nails in years.”

She doesn't sound judgement all, she sounds concerned. Mitch would rather her be judgemental. They're all concerned about him and it's ridiculous. He's not the one in the hospital. He's not the one who passed out and smashed his face into the group. He's not the one who might have something wrong with his heart, though the constant ache in his chest does make him wonder.

But she's right. He really hasn't picked his nails in years. Not since the night they won the Sing-Off. To think, he thought he had been scared that night. Standing on the stage with Scott, Kirstie, Kevin, and Avi, waiting while Nick Lachey dragged out his announcement of the results until the last possible second. He thought the pounding in his chest that drowned out the screams and shouts of the crowd, and the way his lungs felt tight like they were lodged with water, had been fear.

He'd give anything to have that back now. He'd give anything to have Scott by his side. Mitch shrugs, wanting to pull away from Kirstie, but at the same time knowing that it would be a mistake for both of them. “It's fine.”

“Mitch, you're bleeding.” She's desperate. He can hear it in her voice. Desperate to have some sense of control. Desperate to be able to help. To heal. To fix something. So he doesn't say anything about how absolutely minuscule his “wounds” are and lets her wipe at the dots of the blood, wishing that she, that he, that anyone, could do something to fix the giant, gaping wound inside of him.

Suddenly, he's keenly aware of the absence of Kevin's hand on his shoulder. Mitch looks up, his throat drying immediately upon seeing a doctor approaching them. Kirstie's nails dig into the palm of his hand so hard that he can feel the stinging sensation as his skin opens up. Avi is next to his feet while either Mitch helps Kirstie stands or she helps him stand, he's not really sure.

“Scott Hoying?”

“Yes.” For the first time that very long night, Mitch can hear a crack in Kevin's voice. It's as small as can be and maybe if someone didn't know him, they wouldn't have even noticed, but to Mitch it's like the ground opening up under their feet. Kevin, always their pillar of strength and reason, their foundation, is weakening.

“Why don't you all have a seat?”

Nobody moves. _A seat,_ Mitch thinks. What about Scott? Shouldn't the doctor take them to him now? That's what doctors do. They fix the people you love, whether it's their pinky finger or their heart, and then they take you to them, whole once again. So why is this doctor asking them to sit?

“Where's Scott?” Kirstie ventures, speaking for all of them. “Can. . . can we see him?”

“Yes, of course. I just wanted to speak with you about Scott's condition first.”

His condition. What the hell does that mean? Mitch opens his mouth to ask, but nothing comes out. Not even a little squeak or a gasp of air. He resigns himself and purses his lips together, waiting helplessly.

“Scott has a condition called cardiomyopathy. Specially, in his case, dilated cardiomyopathy. It's a condition in which the chambers in the heart become enlarged which decreases the heart’s ability to pump blood properly. This condition can be caused by a family history or a poor diet and lifestyle, but I spoke with Scott-”

 _Scott. He knows. He knows but this means he's conscious._ Mitch grabs onto that thought and clings to it tightly. His head is spinning and his stomach churns with nausea. The doctor is talking and he recognizes the words but his brain refuses to acknowledge them so that they make sense and become real.

“He wasn't aware of any family history and it sounds like he led a fairly healthy lifestyle.”

 _Leads,_ Mitch corrects the doctor silently. Sure, they rely on junk food more than any of them would like to admit while they're on tour and sure, Scott has a sweet tooth when it comes to all things sugar, but he's always been in great shape. Healthy as a horse was how their old high school P.E. teacher once described him, which Mitch always thought was odd. Were horses particularly healthy compared to other creatures in the animal kingdom?

“You're saying,” Avi says slowly, yanking Mitch out of his cloud of scattered thoughts. “that essentially Scott's heart is too big. Is there. . . is there anything you can do about it?”

 _Wait a minute._ His heart. Scott's heart is too big. Mitch wants to laugh at the irony, but his body is still refusing to cooperate with his brain. _Scott's heart is too big,_ he thinks to himself, mulling it over. Really, this should come as no surprise then. Scott's always been the most affection, loving human being Mitch has ever known.

The doctor is still talking, saying something about treatments and medications, but none of it is actually reaching Mitch. His face is professional and impassive.  Mitch wants to punch him, but he’d probably just wind up with a broken hand.  Maybe Kevin will do it for him, though the idea of Kevin punching someone is pretty hysterical.  

Oh god, he’s laughing.  Horrified, Mitch’s hand flies up to cover his mouth as he tries to stop the giggles that are bubbling out of him uncontrollably, but he has absolutely no say over what his body does anymore.  Maybe he can laugh the harsh reality away.  “This is a joke, right?”

He stares at the doctor, waiting for the punchline. Kirstie is weeping openly now, her sobs shaking her small body until Avi leans in to hold her close.  Wait, why is she crying? What did he miss? So his heart is too big, is that really a big problem? It wasn't a problem for the grinch. He brought Christmas back to Whoville after his heart grew. Scott's heart being big is just a part of who he is so how could it possibly be anything less than wonderful? Mitch has the slow, sinking feeling that he's missed something. There isn't anything funny about this.

He still can't stop laughing. Nor can he wipe the big, stupid grin off of his face. He keeps his hands clasped over his mouth as his body shakes with the giggles he's straining to hold back. His eyes are doing that burning thing again, blurring his sight so much that he can no longer see the doctor in front of them.

No one has said a word to him. No one has even looked at him. They're not completely locked away in their own thoughts and feelings however as Kevin's hand has returned to Mitch's shoulder. Bless Kevin. Seriously. Mitch is splitting apart right now, held together only by the light contact.

“Can we see him now?” Avi asks, interrupting the doctor in one of his long winded string of words that stopped making sense forever ago. He looks tired, like all the fight and desperate optimism has gone out of him.

 _Stop laughing!_ Mitch orders himself sternly. It's not funny. None of it is funny. He can't go in to see Scott and be giggling like a stupid school girl with a stupid crush. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It's all so freaking stupid. Mitch hates all of it. He hates that this is happening and that they're all scared out of their minds. He hates that Kirstie is still crying and that he can only stop his ridiculous laughter by grinding his teeth so deeply into his bottom lip that he tastes blood.

_Ow._

“Come on, Mitch.” Kevin is still there for him, and Avi is still there for Kirstie, but who is there for Kevin and Avi? Mitch looks around. It's like a math problem that won't add up no matter how many times he tries to solve it. They're incomplete. He’s incomplete. His left arm might as well just fall off.  He tries to picture himself without his left arm.  Oddly enough, it’s pretty easy.  At least, it’s easier than picturing himself without Scott.  But he doesn’t have to worry about either of those things.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to go work on the next scene, so byyyyyyeeee!


	3. Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. Girl. Is. On. Fire. Well no, I just had most of these three chapter bits written and now I have nothing except the end that I've already started because I like to get ahead of myself and paint myself into a corner annnnd shut up, Laura.

**III. Ends.**

Scott isn’t sick. He can’t be. He doesn’t look sick. Not sick like the doctor, Doctor Cook, claims he is. He looks like Kirstie did when she had the flu last week. Tired and pale, but otherwise fine. He looks like himself.

Kirstie's still crying when they walk into the small room. Scott holds out his arms for her, insisting “I won't break” when she hesitates. “C’mon, Kevin. Show her I won't break.”

Kevin offers up the most genuine smile he has, but it's clear that even he is starting to waver. The iron grip he has on Mitch's arm falls away as he moves forward to the bed, leaning over and wrapping his arms around Scott in the most gentle way imaginable. “Hey,” is all he can manage in a low voice.

“Hey,” Scott says back, his own voice soft and small. When Kevin reluctantly lets go, he looks back at Kirstie. “See?” he says, trying to smile. “Kevin didn't break me so you can't possibly-”

Kirstie cuts him off as she more or less falls onto the bed and hugs him. She holds him like he's fragile, made of glass, and maybe he is. Yet, at the same time there's a frightened desperation to her embrace like she doesn't want to let go of him. “I'm sorry,” she sobs into his shoulder. “I'm so sorry.”

“Kirstie,” Scott's smile, already slipping, disappears altogether and a frown takes its place. “What are you sorry for?”

Mitch leans up against the wall for support. His legs feel like jelly and he can't stop shaking. Stupid, cold hospital. His head hurts. The walls are too white and the lights are too bright. He rubs hard at his forehead, trying to chase the pain away before it gets worse.

“Was it my fault?” Kirstie is asking Scott. Her voice breaks as she pulls away to wipe at the tears falling down her cheeks. “Did I do this to you?”

Scott's mouth actually drops open and he looks appalled. Mitch can't really blame him. If he could find his voice then maybe he would say something to let Kirstie know just how ridiculous she's being. Then again, better let Scott do it. Tact has never been Mitch's strong suit. Especially when he's scared.

“Why. . . Why would you-”

“Because I got you sick in the first place,” Kirstie says tearfully. “I had the flu, remember? And then you caught it!”

“Kirstie.” Scott shakes his head. “You know that's not true. Please don't blame yourself. Doctor Gordan says that this kind of thing can go undetected for years. It had nothing to do with me catching anyway. It was. . .” he trails off, faltering slightly. “it was always going to happen, it was just a question of when.”

Doctor Gordan? Mitch looks up in confusion. Wasn't it Doctor Cook? Did it really matter?

“It'll be okay,” Scott is saying now, though he looks just as unconvinced as Mitch feels. He forces another smile to his face and hugs Kirstie once more. “We’ll just. . . have to figure something else out.”

His blue eyes look troubled and Mitch realizes that he's thinking, worrying, about the tour. How utterly absurd. Leave it to Scott. How typical. See? his new best friend Denial asks him. “He's acting so normal that he has to be fine. Somebody made a mistake, there's nothing wrong with him.” Mitch likes having this new friend.

“Scott, the last thing you need to worry about right now is anything related to Pentatonix, okay? Seriously. It's the furthest thing from anyone's minds right now. Just. . . we're all here for you right now. We're just Scott, Mitch, Kirstie, Kevin, and Avi right now. Forget Pentatonix.”

You tell him, Avi. Mitch silently congratulates Avi for the Scott style pep talk. He watches as Kirstie finally moves to sit by Kevin and Avi leans down to hug Scott now. That means something doesn't it? His turn? If only he could move.

“Mitch?”

He can't do this. Scott doesn't belong in the hospital bed. This is all wrong. Somebody somewhere screwed up something big time and when Mitch finds out who and where and what, there is going to be hell to pay.

“Mitch. Say something.”

Mitch shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest as a dry, humorless laugh,  
tries to chokes him. He catches his bottom lip in his teeth and bites down hard until he tastes blood again. He doesn't trust himself to speak. The burning in his eyes and the ache in his throat are too strong.

He can feel Scott's eyes on him, the blue irises filled with a concern that he can't bear. Scott, of all people, is worried about him. Mitch honestly wants to throw up at the thought. Scott's heart, his favorite part about him for as long as they've been friends, is letting him down, letting them all of them down. It's threatening their perfectly happy little world. It's trying to take Scott away and Scott is worried about Mitch. Things are more upside down than he first thought.

“Mitch, come here.” Scott pats the edge of the bed, vacated by Kirstie. “Please?”

Mitch wants to go to him. He truly does. But his body has been rebelling against him all night and right now is no exception. He stands frozen against the wall, convinces that if he tries to take one step away, he'll fall face first to the floor.

“I'm okay,” Scott says and that's such a lie. Unless he and Mitch just have completely different definitions of the word. “I just want to be sure that you're okay too.”

Mitch is so far from okay. Okay is on the other side of the world right now. Hell, it might even be on Pluto right now, that stupid dwarf planet that scientists can't make up their minds about.

“Mitch,don't make me come over there.” The threat is a weak joke and they all know it. Kevin and Kirstie both smile, Avi looks like a smile might break him. He's crying, Mitch realizes, and he quickly looks, away, down to stare at his feet because he doesn't know how to handle a crying Avi. He doesn't know how to handle any of this.

He still can't make himself go to Scott, and even though this makes Mitch hate himself even more, he knows why. Going to Scott will be like the final admittance that their perfect world hasn't just been turned upside down, but tossed topsy freakin’ turvy until nothing looks familiar and everything is wrong. Mitch is a big fan of ignoring problems until they go away and even though he knows this isn't going away, he doesn't want to acknowledge it.

“Please, Mitch?”

It's the tiny break in Scott's voice, the first time he wavers, that finally pushes Mitch away from the wall. He staggers clumsily over to the bed and sits down before he collapses. Leaning forward, he meets Scott's embrace like he's done a thousand times before, curling into his absurdly long arms and stupidly broad shoulders. He's trying really hard not to cry, but it turns out that breathing and crying are kind of the same thing in that moment. His whole body feels wound tight with anxiety and he's sure that at any minute, any second, he's going to explode into a million tiny pieces.

Scott doesn't say anything. He knows Mitch isn't a big fan of clumsy words or careless promises. Actions speak louder than words. So he simply holds Mitch close and somehow, that almost makes everything seem okay for a bit. At least, here in this little bubble of time and space, Mitch can breathe.

But outside, just centimeters away in fact, surely the world has got to be coming to an end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna get a bit more detailed and medical oriented so stay tuned for that bit of fun. Happy Halloween?


	4. Insides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh the magical streak of updates was broken. Sorry about that! Work and sickness got the better of me. Oh, and there was a baseball game. And an episode of How to Get Away with Murder. 
> 
> What priorities? 
> 
> Anyway. I hope this doesn't suck!!

**IV. Insides.**

  
It's what is on the inside that matters. That's what Mitch's mom used to tell him when he was growing up. It doesn't matter if you're the most beautiful person in the world if you're ugly on the inside. It's a concept he still struggles with from time to time, mostly because he's insecure in his appearance, but Mitch has tried really hard to be beautiful on the inside and the outside.

  
Despite what his mom said, it's so much easier to look better on the outside than the inside. Outside is pretend but it's more impressive. Inside is real and takes a lot more work. When you’re a mess on the inside, you can make up for it by looking good on the outside. People rarely look past the surface anyway. It’s a good thing that one of his life goals is to become an actor.

  
Act I. Scene 1: The Hospital.

  
Scott is sick. Mitch is supportive. The doctor is a jerk, but Mitch might be biased and anyone who tells him that his best friend is sick is a jerk. Whatever.

  
And action.

  
“Cardiomyopathy can very often go undetected which is unfortunate because it can make it difficult to treat.” Doctor Wash/Cook/Gordon (Mitch makes a mental note to remember his name so it's easier to act alongside him) pushes his dark framed glasses further up his nose and pulls his hand back down to skim light fingers across the keyboard in front of him. “It's very common for the heart to become strained to the point where the damage becomes very severe. It's the leading cause of sudden cardiac death in young adults.”

  
Oh. Mitch flinches at that one. The others do too, but their expressions seem more beaten than actually shocked, as if they had heard it before. He can't remember but then, he missed a lot the first time. He was too busy laughing like a whacked out hyena.

  
“Scott is very fortunate,” the doctor says now, giving Scott a scrutinizing look over his glasses. He's looking at him like he's some miraculous wonder and though Mitch tends to agree, he's not a fan of the reasoning in this case. He shivers.

  
“What do we do?” he asks suddenly, more forcefully than he was originally going for because Scott is starting to squirm uncomfortably under the doctor's intense gaze. “There's something you can do, right?”

  
“Mitch.” Kirstie sounds exhausted, but there's more than a hint of confusion too and it's enough to make Mitch turn to her. She's looking at him with wide eyes. Clearly he's missed more than he first thought.

  
Avi buries his face in his hands and Kevin looks down at his feet. Kirstie’s eyes fill up with tears as quickly as if someone just flipped a switch to make them appear. Scott takes Mitch's hand and he starts to flinch and then forces himself to stay steady.

  
“There are, of course, a number of treatment options we intend to try. But they are just treatments.” Doctor Gordon, that's what Scott called him so it must be that, ticks off a few of his fingers. “We can fit Scott with a pacemaker, prescribe him medication and advise him on how to alter his lifestyle so that it's less strain on his heart.”

  
“But,” Mitch supplies helpfully. He knows that it's coming.

  
“I'm afraid that the damage to Scott's heart is fairly moderate. We’ll know more with time but the outlook is three to five years unless we are able to find a new heart.”

  
Again, Mitch is the only one who is hearing this for the first time. The words run around in his brain, a nightmarish carousel that he has no control over. Round and round they go, mixing up their order and creating a helpless mass of sounds that make no sense whatsoever.

  
Damage.

  
Three to five years.

  
New heart.

  
He can sense they're all staring at him, but he's forgotten his line. He's stuck. Especially on the “three to five years” part because Scott is twenty-five years old and according to the doctor, without a new heart, he won't live past thirty. Thirty used to seem so old to Mitch and now it seems impossibly young.

  
Outside, Scott looks tired and maybe a little sick. Inside, his heart is quitting on him. Outside, he still looks as if he could pick Mitch or Kirstie up and swing them over his broad shoulders. Inside, he's little and weak. Well, except for his heart. Apparently that's too big. Outside, Scott looks just like Mitch has always known him. Inside, he's completely different. Outside, he's alive. Inside, he's alive but dying.

  
Outside, Mitch somehow has a smile fixed to his face. It probably looks creepy and insane but it's a smile nonetheless. Outside, he holds tightly to Scott's hand, grasping for control over. . . well, the control. Scott is trying to comfort him and take care of him which is one of the most absurd things on the planet, second only to the reason they're all here in the first place. No, comfort and reassure are Mitch's now. They're his job. So outside he has that. Outside, he's calm and brave. Quiet and rational. Whole.

  
Inside, he's a mess. Inside, he's crying and he can't stop. Inside, he's shaking uncontrollably. Inside, he has zero control and it paralyzes him with fear. Inside, he's panicked and terrified beyond belief. Inside, he's screaming and losing his sense of sanity. Inside, Mitch feels as though the world has stopped spinning so suddenly that they've all been jerked around violently and it makes his head hurt. He's disoriented. He's in pieces.   
  
He's still Mitch Grassi, but he can't tell who that is anymore. On the inside, he feels like a stranger. Messy and dangerous to himself and those around him. Like the labels on the side of a can of spray paint: “Warning. Contents May Explode Under Pressure.” On the inside, he feels like a bomb and he's afraid of going off and hurting more than just himself. The inside scares him.

  
That's why Mitch decides that, for today at least, and probably the foreseeable future, it's what's on the outside that counts. No make-up or hair coloring allowed, just. . . acting. Pretending to be someone he's not. Brave and confident and reassuring. Strong. For Scott.

  
“Okay.” The word comes out shakier than he wants. Mitch presses his lips together as an involuntary shudder wracks his entire body. He can't cry. That's not how it goes. It's not in the script. Furiously, he blinks away the pressure that's building up in his eyes and takes a deep breath. Or. tries to. It comes out all mangled and messy. Like Doctor Gordan’s words were sharp claws, slashing his lungs into ribbons. “So how do we go about getting a new heart?”

  
He's almost proud of himself for the way he delivers this line. Calmly. Quietly. Casually, almost as if he's discussing how one goes about getting a new pair of shoelaces. The tears don't fall. He's doing so well. Really, he just might be deserving of an Oscar.

  
Screw the Oscar, he wants his best friend back. The one who is happy and healthy. The one who is fine on the outside and the inside. The one who isn't dying.

  
Dying. God, Mitch still can't wrap his mind around this freakish concept of Scott dying. It's like his life became one of those stupid Hallmark movies where someone is always dying and someone is always crying and there's usually some manipulative, overly sappy message about living life to the fullest, and Mitch is so not here for that.

  
“He's on the transplant list,” Doctor Gordon interrupts Mitch's runaway train of thought. “Patients are placed on the list at an “as needed” basis if you will.” He nods at Scott now, acknowledging him and Mitch realizes that they've been talking around him rather than to him, something he hates. “Unfortunately, it’s a waiting game. You'll need a match and you'll need to be at the top of the list which means-”

  
“It's going to get worse before it gets better,” Scott finishes softly. His thumb is rubbing light circles over the back of Mitch's hand, a steady rhythm in an otherwise chaotic storm of inconsistencies. “Okay.”

  
Except it's not okay. Mitch can't stand how nonchalant Scott sounds. Sure, there's this tiny tremor of fear that those who know him best can pick up on, but more than anything, Scott sounds relieved. There's a very present sense of “Thank God it's me and not them” and it makes Mitch feel sick to his stomach. Granted, he'd feel the same exact way but as much as he wishes, he's not the one who's sick. Scott is. The biggest joke in the entire universe.

  
More words are exchanged, but Mitch stops listening because he's certain that his head is about to explode. Doctor Gordan shakes all of their hands except Mitch's because he refuses to let go of Scott. But he mutters a quiet “thank you” before the man leaves so that has to count as something, right?

  
He's almost made it. He's just getting to the point where he doesn't have to force inhale and exhale. The fake smiling is getting easier. He's blinked almost all his tears away. Mitch allows a teeny, very temporary sense of relief to sweep over him so he can brace himself for the next round. He can do this. Support, support, support. Be strong. Be brave. If Scott can do it, then he has no excuse.

  
Then it happens. He feels it in the sudden jarring of the bed at his side. Hears it in the gasping intake of breath. Sees it in the way Kevin, who is sitting opposite them and hasn't taken his eyes off of Scott once, just crumples. But Mitch also feels it in the piece of his heart that breaks off and falls away. He hears it when the piece shatters like it's made of glass. Sees it when he turns to follow Kevin's gaze.

  
Scott is crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I have 15,000 words of this Coliver HTGAWM fic that I'll probably never publish because I can't figure out how to end it. But I like the other stuff. Anyway. I need to sleep so I can knock out some more of this story. Cheers!


	5. Outsides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I would change things up a bit and have the next few from Scott's POV. I'm most likely not going to ever focus on Kirstie or Avi or Kevin because I really want this is focus on Scott and Mitch and I hope that's okay? I hope I haven't already said this? Ack. Read on?

**V. Outsides.**

 

Scott really hates crying. He hates how messy and ugly it is with the tears and the snot making his face wet and sticky. Speaking of his face, he really hates how red it gets when he cries. He hates the noises he makes, the pathetic gasping sounds and small whimpers that escape him no matter how hard he tries to keep them in. He hates the way crying makes everything hurt; his eyes, his nose, his head, his chest. He hates how it always leaves him feeling drained and empty and exhausted and stupid. So stupid.

  
Because honestly, Scott hates everything about crying, but what he loathes more than anything is how stupid it makes him feel, especially when it's actually happens. There's something incredibly vulnerable and thereby terrifying in losing complete control over your emotions. Something that strips you of your control also makes you feel less human and more like an enormous disaster. Crying is ugly and stupid and weak and makes him ugly and stupid and weak and the more he wants to stop the more he cries.

  
He can feel and hear the others around him, voicing their concern and support for him as they back up their words with gentle touches, but it all only serves to make gaining control less likely. They all sound so loving yet devastated at the same time and he wants to wake up from this nightmare he's found himself in. It's not like he's in full blown sobbing uncontrollably mode, but he'd almost prefer that because he would be too far gone to care. This mostly quiet way is frustrating because he's very much aware of his vulnerability and it's painfully obvious just how much he's trying and failing to stop it.

  
“Scott.” Kevin sounds at a loss for what to say. Like he's trying so hard to offer up some words of wisdom or comfort. Hes always been so good at it, seemingly infinite in his patience and quiet outlook on things but today even he's at a loss. The inner peace that Scott has always admired him for is absence in this moment. Scott knows deep down that he's not personally responsible for hurting Kevin in this way, but everything is surface level and he can't see any deeper than what's directly in front of him.

  
“S-Sorry,” he finally gasps out, hastily dragging an arm over his face in a wasted effort to wipe away the tears. His bottom lip trembles like he's five years old instead of twenty five so he bites down on it hard. It's the wrong word because he knows they're all going to protest it, but he can't think of anything else to say.

  
“Scotty.” Predictably Kevin sounds offended, so offended that Scott almost smiles. “Don't apologize for this. You know it's not your fault, right?”

  
He does. He really does. It's just a sick twist of fate. A curveball tossed his way despite the fact that he has no idea how to play baseball. A harsh reminder that he's not invincible. He never thought he was, he just. . . had plans.

  
Kirstie presses a tissue into his hands, folding her fingers over his. “You're going to be okay,” she says with a brave smile. She hardly looks like the frightened, tearful girl who stepped into the hospital room just minutes ago. The one who was so desperate for a reasoning for all that had happened that she tried to blame herself. She's still crying and it hurts so much to see her like this, but he can also see the way she holds her head up, and he can feel the way she's holding onto his hands. She's stronger than he could ever hope to be. If it had been her-

  
He can't think like that. Scott has never been so terrified in his life, but he's relieved too. So relieved that he could throw up. Thank god it's him and not Kevin or Avi or Kirstie or Mitch. He can handle this. He looks around the room now at all of his friends and knows with all of his broken, messed up, too big heart that he would never be able to handle being in their position. He's not that brave.

  
“What, um,” Scott clears his throat and tries to change the subject because he cannot talk about this heart thing anymore. “I- what about the concert tonight?” He's secretly mortified about what happened though it has to be silly looking at the big picture. It's not like he passed out because he was just tired or thirsty or hungry or hungover or whatever. He passed out because according to the doctor, his heart stopped beating for nearly a minute.

  
“We haven't looked at anything,” Avi admits. Scott loves him for his honesty and he loves him even more because he doesn't try to change the subject back or lie about anything. He's giving Scott what he wants and it kinda makes Scott feel selfish, but he needs the distraction. “I'm sure everyone is just worried about you. Security’s here at the hospital to monitor the situation and make sure that nothing gets released to the press before we're ready.”

  
Scott nods, his mind instantly leaping to the next point of conversation. “What are we going to tell them?”

  
This time, Avi shakes his head. “Scott,” he says softly. “Not tonight. We’ll say something. . . just to let them know that you're. . .”

  
Alive?

  
“Stable.” Avi looks at him, eyes rimmed in red, and Scott backs down. “Scott, I can't even think about this right now though. I can't-”

  
“We don't have to.” Scott interrupts softly. “Sorry, I didn't mean. . . I just-”

  
“It's fine.” Avi says just as quickly, with a smile Scott can see straight through. “Don't worry about it, okay? I'll take care of it all. Just not now.”

  
It's a weird, awkward dance they're in. Sorting out priorities as a torrent of emotions threatens to drown them. Figuring out how to comfort and be comforted at the same time. Rearranging the natural order of things. Changing roles. Scott never considered himself “the leader” of anything, but his passion and drive had often placed him at the forefront and he came up with ideas and suggested new twists and. . . and now he's here. He's here and he doesn't even know where “he” is.

  
“I guess I just don't know what to say now,” Scott confesses. “I don't want to talk about me. I don't see the point if it's just going to be a bunch of waiting and seeing. You all know how bad I am at waiting.”

  
His joke, as lame as it might be, elicits a tiny, but genuine smile from Kirstie. “It's not your strong suit,” she says, reaching up and gently messing up his hair. “I've seen toddlers who are more patient.”

  
She's not wrong. It's only been a couple of hours and he's already getting antsy. The full gravity of the situation looms large and foreboding on the horizon, but even though they've all had a turn to shed tears, he knows it hasn't hit them yet. Not really. A part of mind keeps telling him that he's sick and dying, but the other part, the part that has always shied away from unpleasant thoughts and realities, is wondering what they're going to do next and when they're going to do it because he can't just sit here.

  
Kirstie's touch becomes even more gentle as she carefully fixes his hair. “It's one of my favorite things about you. Even if I never told you that.”

  
Her eyes widen as the words slip out and Scott doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. He opts for an eye roll and ducks out of her reach. “Save the eulogy for my funeral, please,” he says dryly. He doesn't mean to sound so harsh and wishes he could take the words back instantly so he tacks on a hasty “Ya know, when we're ninety-three,” as if it might somehow make it better.

  
She looks like he slapped her and Scott has never hated himself so much. But she knows. They all know. So Kirstie sucks in a deep breath and puts a smile on her face that only makes him feel even worse. “Good,” she says too brightly. She sounds breathless. “Sounds good to me.”

  
“Okay,” Mitch's voice startles all of them. It draws Scott's gaze away from Kirstie. Mitch is staring at the wall opposite them, brown eyes deeply troubled. He's picking at his nails again, Scott notices. He's picked so ferociously that he's drawn tiny bits of blood from some of his fingers, but he doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by it. “Okay,” he says again.

  
“Okay?” Kevin asks softly.

  
Mitch blinks and turns away from the wall. “Okay,” he repeats once more. “Let’s just all take a deep breath. Stop. Breathe. Try not to think too much.”

  
He's too calm. Too rational. It's almost eerie to see him like this. Mitch always wears his heart on his sleeve, but he's incredibly withdrawn right now. Scott stares at the dark circles under his eyes and wonders how long they've been there. He doesn't remember seeing them earlier.

  
“It's getting late,” Mitch continues cautiously. “We should rest.” His eyes move up to Scott, but they refuse to rest directly on him, instead staring just over Scott's left shoulder. “You especially, Scott.”

  
Mitch is right.” Avi nods too hard and too quickly, so much so that Scott thinks he looks like some sort of cartoon character. “Rest is important.”

  
They're all so desperate for something to do or say that doesn't concentrate on Scott's illness. It's related, but they can pretend it's not. It doesn't work but it's the thought that counts.

  
Mitch folds his arms across his chest and a stubborn look that's way more familiar comes over his face. “I'm staying,” he announces in a tone that leaves absolutely no room for argument.

  
“I'm fine,” Scott says at the same time that Avi voices his agreement.

  
“Someone should.” He tosses Scott a withering look, eyebrows raised. “You really think we'd leave you alone tonight?”

  
How would it help? This time Scott bites his tongue and refrains from voicing his thoughts but he can't stop thinking it. He doesn't want to sound ungrateful because he's not. He's extraordinarily thankful and he knows he’d never be able to get through all of this alone, but how is this going to help anything? Does he want to be alone right now? No, not at all. But they're all freaked out and really tires and he just doesn't see the point.

  
Still, he can't say no. He can see straight through Mitch's act and it's almost as scary as being told that he's dying. Scott may have a screwed up heart but his brain is just fine, thank you very much. He knows refusing Mitch right now would do more harm than good.

  
Scott nods reluctantly. “Okay.”

  
“Okay,” Mitch echoes.

  
“Okay,” Kevin and Avi say together.

  
Kirstie won't look at any of them. She's staring at the floor, tears running silently down her face. Scott thinks again of his big stupid mouth saying awful things and hurting her feelings. Swallowing hard, he takes her hand in both of his, feeling a little bit better about it being this way around. “Okay?” he asks her.

  
She's quiet for a long while as she reaches up with her free hand and wipes at her tears. She shakes her head slowly, but when she does reply, her words contradict her actions. “Okay.”

  
They leave, slowly and painfully, like it's killing them to do so, but Scott comforts himself with the reminder that they aren't actually dying. It's much better this way. Kirstie holds onto him the longest and he can feel her shaking in his arms which makes it almost impossible for him to let her go. It doesn't seem right to let go when she's so broken and helpless and sad, but he doesn't really have a choice.

  
“I'll have the nurse bring you a pillow and a blanket,” Kevin tells Mitch right before he leaves the room. Thank god for Kevin, Scott thinks for probably the millionth time just that night.

  
When they're alone, he turns to Mitch, squeezing his hand to get his attention. “Hey. Are you really okay?”

  
It's a dumb question. Okay has become something different from what they knew it to be their entire lives. Scott is just right to gauge what this new okay is like.

  
Mitch seems to understand though because he gives a short little nod and a pathetic smile. “I am as long as you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aeeeeeeeee okay?


	6. Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheeeeeeeeeee

**VI. Hours.**

  
He doesn't sleep well that first night. Not even after he convinces Mitch to climb into the bed with him. Not even after Mitch finally drifts off into an uneasy bit exhausted slumber. Not even after the nurse who checks on him leaves without trying to wake Mitch up and make him move. Scott is too scared to close his eyes let alone actually sleep. The last time he remembers opening his eyes he found himself in the hospital and everything had pretty much gone to hell in a handbasket.

  
He just can't grasp that all of that had happened only hours ago. Time, it seems, has slowed to a crawl and he's already going crazy. He hates not knowing. He hates not having a plan. He hates the unknown. Frankly, it terrifies him. He's a control freak. At least, he likes the idea of having it and being able to use it if he really cares about something. For example, he’s not the neatest person ever and he doesn’t particularly care if Mitch doesn’t clean up after himself right away. But anyone who has ever seen him at a rehearsal will say with absolute certainty that he can be a complete nightmare to work with if things don't go smoothly.

  
Scott stares up at the ceiling, his mind racing. He thinks about the fans, the tour, the new album, all the of specials and tv shows they were supposed to appear on. He thinks about music videos and schedules interviews and meet and greets. He thinks about all of that and he's really afraid that his brain is just going to explode from the magnitude of how it's all just gone. Just like that. Literally in the blink of an eye, or in his case, the best of a heart.

  
Slowly, carefully so as not to disturb Mitch, Scott lifts his hand and rests it on top of his chest. He feels a steady beat under his palm and lets himself entertain the idea that maybe all of this is just a horrible misunderstanding. A nightmare. Anything but reality.

  
“Wake up,” he whispers, pinching himself. But all he succeeds in doing is hurting his arm.

  
“Wh-?”

  
And waking Mitch up. Shoot. “Sorry,” he says quietly, reaching over to find his friend’s hand. He gives it a squeeze. “I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

  
“I'm not the one who should be sleeping,” Mitch sits up, rubbing his eyes so he can survey Scott intently. “Are you okay? Why are you up? Do you need-”

  
“Mitch.” Scott shakes his head, batting away Mitch's hand as it reaches for the call button. “I'm fine, I don't need anything. I was just thinking.”

  
A hesitant smile lifts one corner of Mitch's mouth. “Don't hurt yourself,” he says teasingly. It's something he says all the time. Scott says it to him too. It's a little, stupid inside joke of theirs. But it loses its effect when the smile slips and Mitch adds, “What are you thinking about?”

  
“Everything.” For once he's not exaggerating. Scott sighs and closes his eyes, trying to quiet the thoughts that are still running circles in his mind. “The tour, our music, the fans, everything we had planned. It's all just over, Mitch. Everything we've ever worked for. Gone.”

  
Even as he says it out loud, confessing it to Mitch, Scott still can't fully grasp it. He can't wrap his mind around this thing that is too big, too far away from possibility. It's something he never imagined and now it's here and it's not going away. As much as he wants to pretend it's not actually happening, it is and there's nothing he can do about it.

  
Hey,” Mitch lightly taps him on the forehead as if to turn off the thoughts himself. “Don't think like that, Scotty. It's not gone forever you know. We just have to hit the reset button. Focus on more important things for a little while. Focus on getting you better.”

  
“I need a new heart, Mitch.” Scott feels an unwelcome lump in his throat and tries to swallow past it. God, he's so terrified. “It's not like I have a cold or something. It's. . . This is huge.”

  
Even in the dark he can see Mitch's eyes, suspiciously shiny as he nods and reaches up to run his fingers slowly through Scott's hair. “I know,” he says in a small, choked whisper. “But that doesn't mean what we had is gone for good. Hell, it's not even really gone. It's still here. You'll always have it. We just have to take a break.”

  
“What if-”

  
“What if we never tour again?” Mitch interrupts. “What if we never perform together as a group again? What if we never write or cover new songs again? What if we never perform in front of a crowd again? Is that what you're asking? Because you should know the answer.”

  
Mitch pauses as if he's waiting for Scott to say that he does indeed know the answer, but Scott is afraid that opening his mouth will only result in more tears and he can't do that anymore. At least not tonight. He'd like to have one conversation that didn't involve tears because he has a dreaded feeling that soon it might become impossible.

  
When he doesn't say anything Mitch sighs patiently. “I don't care,” he says simply, with a little shrug. “I know you probably care a lot, and to be honest Scott, I'm more sure I know how to help you in any way other than telling you that I don't care at all. Let me know if I'm being insensitive or putting my foot in my mouth because God knows I do that enough, but I really don't care.”

  
Scott believes him, he just doesn't understand. “But. . . how? How can you just pretend-”

  
“I'm not pretending, Scott. I'm one hundred percent okay with the idea of moving back to Texas and working behind the counter at the corner CVS for the rest of my life. I'm one hundred percent okay with nobody recognizing me and never opening my mouth to sing again. If that's what happens, then I can deal. Easy. I just-” his voice catches suddenly and Mitch ducks his head, looking away from Scott. “I need you to be with me. I'll be okay anywhere as long as I have you.”

  
“Mitch-” Scott's no tears plan is failing rapidly. Just like everything else in his life.

  
Mitch smiles again but there's only sadness in his face this time. “Just promise me that I'll still have you,” he pleads. “Because everything I told you is Plan A. And I don't have a Plan B. I don't want one. I just want my best friend. Everything else will work out.”

  
He hates this. They're falling apart at the seams and they haven't even really started life at this new normal. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott can see the clock at his bedside, it's illuminated numbers staring back at him. 4:17 in the morning. Just twelve hours ago they were rehearsing for their show.

  
He's tired already. Scott doesn't dare admit that to Mitch but he can't imagine living like this for days, weeks, months, or possibly even years. It feels like one never ending anxiety attack and the thought of it being long term only makes him feel worse.

  
He may not admit it but his silence is probably answer enough. One tear slips down Mitch's cheek but it's enough to make Scott feel like the worst person alive. Before he can say anything, Mitch is already wiping at the tears and furiously blinking the rest away. “Everything else will work out,” he repeats steadily. “Just promise me, Scott.”

  
He doesn't like making promises that he can't keep for sure. Mitch knows this. But Scott isn't that stupid. He knows what his best friend needs now. It isn't the truth, because lately the truth has become too ugly and suffocating. Lately, Scott muses, truth has done nothing but beat them down into an exhausted submission. The truth doesn't always set you free. Sometimes it traps you.

  
So he lies. Hooks his pinky around Mitch's, coaxing a smile out of him. “I promise,” Scott tells him, ignoring the break in his voice. “You're stuck with me for the next eighty years.”

  
Mitch knows he's lying but he looks relieved. He takes solace in the lie, relaxing back down on the bed where his head rests lightly on Scott's shoulder. “Good. Now. Please try to get some sleep. You're such a pain when you're grumpy.”

  
Scott curls his arm around Mitch and they lay together in the darkness. In the quiet. Scott feels Mitch tentatively reach across his chest and place his palm over his heartbeat. He lays his hand overtop and closes his eyes. Try. He has to try. For Mitch. For Kirstie and Avi and Kevin. Everything else will work out. It will. It has to. All this time ahead of him will not be spent alone. And that makes it seem a thousand times less scary.

  
“I love you, Mitch.”

  
He doesn't have to wait long for a reply.

  
“Love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know it's moving slowly. The next chapter will be a bit of a time jump and things should start progressing in a more interesting manner. I have hopes. We will see what happens to those hopes.


	7. Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of thrown together but I wanted to get something up before (eeee) I see Pentatonix live in Philadelphia! I. Am. So. Excited. I can't even begin to sjdjjwbekslebje jekehwjwk. Enekekleene.
> 
> Anyway.

**VII. Days**.

  
The following days are a nonstop slew of changes and Scott hates every single one of them. He's forced to watch his life get turned upside down and shaken both in and out of the hospital while he is completely powerless to do anything about it.

  
In the hospital he's constantly being poked and prodded by doctors and nurses, blood is drawn, scans are taken, and he's told a bunch of things in a bunch of words that are big and beyond his understanding. He gets ahold of Kirstie's cellphone one point and tries to look some of it up but only comes away more terrified than before.

  
Here's what he understands: He has a heart disease that has something to do with the muscles in his heart becoming stretched out and too thin which makes the chamber (he doesn’t know what that means) enlarged. From what he gathers, that means his heart is weak and because of that it can’t pump blood as well as it should, and so it’s failing. He needs a new heart. No ifs, ands, or buts. No rainbows or unicorns or silver linings. He needs a new heart before this one gives out.

  
Oh, they can press pause for a little while; give him medications to keep it beating at a normal rhythm and prevent blood clots and reduce inflammation. They can put in a pacemaker that will help it work the way it should. They can tell him to exercise more (but carefully!) and eat better. They can do a lot, but it’s like putting a bandaid on something cut almost completely in half. He needs a new heart.

  
That’s inside the hospital. He’s a human pincushion with no say over what happens to him. Day in and day out, they shuttle him up and down the halls to wait out scans and tests and listen to really smart people talk about him like he’s not even there. He feels claustrophobic and like an invisible cloth is draped over his face, closing out his nose and mouth and suffocating him. It’s awful.

  
Outside the hospital, he can’t tell if things are worse or better. Better according to everyone else because they all seem to be taking this “Pentatonix is basically over” thing way better than he is. Scott has begged them for details but they're all stubbornly vague, brushing it off with, “It's fine. It's not big deal. It'll work out.” It's only when he's nearly in tears that Kevin tells him. He'd feel bad, but he was actively trying not to cry.

  
It's pretty straightforward. The tour is canceled as is most of the foreseeable future. No one has actually confirmed the end of it all, but Scott isn't clueless. It makes his chest ache, or maybe that's just his stupid heart. They've worked so hard. All of their hopes and their dreams are just dust, blowing away and never to be seen or heard from again. It's all so final.

  
He finds comfort in knowing that they've all had side projects that they can maybe work on. Avi can finish his album. Kirstie has her own website and she's getting married. Kevin is working on an album. Mitch is-

  
Mitch is here. He's always here, right by Scott's side. He leaves to shower and change, to use the bathroom and grab coffee or a quick meal. Once Kevin actually got him to leave and head back to the hotel to take a nap in something other than the cot the nurses set up for him. Aside from that, he refuses to go and everyone knows better than to try and argue with him. So they take shifts and that's when he slips out for brief windows of time.

  
Avi comes and plays cards with him. Poker. Blackjack. Spit. War when Scott is too bored to think straight. None of them will let Scott touch a phone or a laptop which tells him there's something bad they're trying to hide from him, but Avi scrolls through Twitter and reads all the good tweets; sweet and encouraging messages from their fans that make them both tear up.

  
Kevin comes in and listens to his anxious and fearful ramblings, his angry and frustrated rants, and then hands him tissues when he inevitably starts to cry. Scott has always been emotional but now he can't seem to get through one day without crying. It's almost always solely in front of Kevin which is humiliating beyond all reason. Scott wishes desperately for one relatively normal conversation with his friend, but at the same time, if he's going to lose it with anyone, he'd rather it be Kevin. Kevin is an unwavering pillar of strength and encouragement, his faith holding both of them up even when Scott has never felt lower.

  
Kirstie brings in stacks of wedding magazines and he absolutely loves her for it. They spend hours pouring over pictures and discussing themes and colors and cakes and decorations and everything except music. She's bright and vibrant and happy, determined to keep a positive outlook on everything. She's so much braver than him. She makes him FaceTime with Olaf, and plays Pokémon Go with him though there's not many Pokémon lurking in the one hallway he's allowed to walk up and down.

  
Whenever Mitch leaves, he comes back with something for Scott. Sometimes it's clothes, other times it's a rom com that they watch together. When he leaves just to get coffee or food, he comes back with something from the hospital gift shop. He bosses the nurses around until Scott convinces him to stop. He brings his Mac in and makes silly photo booth videos with Scott. He learns the routine better than Scott does and is quick to point something out to unsuspecting nurses and doctors if it doesn't run as smoothly as “it should”.

  
It's almost going well then Mitch mentions how it's only been six days and Scott almost loses his mind. How. How has it been less than a week?

  
“You're getting your pacemaker put in tomorrow!” Mitch reminds him brightly. “Doctor Gordan says you can probably leave roughly twenty four hours after the procedure is finished. We can go home, Scott!”

  
He's trying really hard to make it sound like a good thing and Scott knows that it is, but it's also a reminder that everything is a terrible mess. He's twenty five and they're giving him a pacemaker which makes him feel one hundred and twenty five. They have a pretty strict diet and exercise routine set up for him which would be fine if he had any say at all in it. The last thing Scott wants to do is complain but it's almost impossible to keep up a positive act. Besides, going home will be the final nail in the coffin.

  
Okay, maybe that's a poor choice of words. There's no looking back when they leave. Once they get home, they're just going to stay there.

  
“So I scheduled an appointment to meet with Doctor Pierce on Tuesday,” Mitch is saying now. “You know,” he adds when Scott just stares at him blankly. “The cardiologist in LA.”

  
Oh. Because all of this doesn't stop. This whole pacemaker thing is a checkpoint and because Doctor Gordan was worried about his heart on the flight back home. “I just want to give it a little help.”

  
Ha. A little help. Like Scott's heart was a little old lady that needed a strong arm to lean on.

  
“Aren't you glad to be going home?” Mitch ask, still too brightly. And that's the thing about Mitch these days. Not that Scott is looking for this kind of attention or that he likes to see his friends so upset because he can't think of anything worse. But he hasn't seen Mitch cry once. Kevin, Avi, and Kirstie have done their best to keep it together but the fear and sadness are still too raw. Mitch on the other hand is a different kind of mess altogether and it worries Scott. He won't stop smiling too big or talking in this insanely cheery tone.

  
He's trying to cheer Scott up that much is clear. And yeah, Scott is indescribably grateful for his support. But. But he's acting like someone Scott has never met before. Mitch is never this cheerful even when everything's going right. He's sarcastic and snarky, and sometimes he and Scott complain about little stupid things just because they make each other laugh and it's fun. Now he's turned into this bizarre human form of one of those vapid characters from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. A kind of “everything will be okay if you just believe and have friends!” persona that freaks Scott out.

  
“It'll be okay,” he says now in a comforting tone. He pats Scott's hand as if he's a little old grandma. Scott can almost hear him say, “There, there, dearie.” It's unsettling.

  
“Mitch-”

  
“I think it'll help to finally get you settled,” Mitch prattles on as if he hasn't heard Scott. “Like for real. Home in a familiar place and a routine we can actually learn and count on.” He's actually nodding to himself right now. It'd be funny if it wasn't so alarming.

  
“Mitch-”

  
“And we can meet Doctor Pierce face to face which will be nice because Doctor Gordan assured me numerous times that he's probably the best cardiologist on the west coast and he sounds very nice but sometimes it's just better to see people rather than talk to them over the phone, you know?”

  
“Mitch-”

  
“Oh, and Wyatt! Wyatt misses you. Us. I miss him, don't you?”

  
“Mitch!”

  
Mitch snaps to attention, blinking rapidly as if he's just been brought out of a daydream. “What? Are you okay? Can I get you something? Do you need-”

  
“Just. Let me talk.” Scott bites his lip when he realizes that Mitch is finally waiting and he has no idea what to say. “Um. Are you okay?”

  
The words come out clunky and awkward. Rushed and jumbled. Scott mentally facepalms.

  
Mitch just stares at him. Scott is about to repeat himself because he can't sound any stupider, but Mitch does it for him. “Am I okay?” he asks. “Am I- Scott, you're kidding.”

  
“Mitch-”

  
“I'm not the one with a freaking heart condition,” Mitch kind of laughs but it sounds weird. “I mean, obviously you'll be fine, but right now you're the one anyone should be worried about. I'm fine. My heart is fine. It's. . . it's all okay, Scotty.”

  
He has tears in his eyes suddenly and Scott doesn't know where they came from. This isn't exactly new territory. They've been best friends for fifteen years now and they've seen each other through a lot of tough stuff. Scott has lost count of the times Mitch has cried in front of him or vise versa. But it's always been over a guy or a stupid bully at school or the hate that's always lurking around each corner. Small stuff and big stuff, but with one thing in common: Scott could always, always make it better. A hug. A kiss. Gentle words of encouragement. Scott was good at fixing Mitch and making him smile again.

  
But this is different. He's only realizing just how different now as Mitch tears up in front of him and he has no clue what to do or say. He let the perkiness and optimism go way too far.

  
“Mitch, you're allowed to not be okay,” he says quietly.

  
But Mitch only shakes his head. “Not this time,” he replies in a faltering tone. “Not right now.”

  
Mitch isn't one to hide his feelings. He wears his heart on his sleeve. Yet here he is, on the verge of breaking and absolutely refusing to. He's scared and sad and completely exhausted, but he's using last every bit of his strength and control to dig in his heels. He shakes his head again and then looks away from Scott. “One of us has to be okay.”

  
But Scott isn't sure which one of them is okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a more serious note, I wanted to take a quick moment to address the drastic turn that has taken place in the United States over the last week. My thoughts and prayers are with everyone who is hurting and afraid and angry and overwhelmed and frustrated. My heart is broken for all those who are affected. I only have this to say: Love one another. Protect one another. I find comfort in 1 Corinthians 13 and I might suggest you take a quick look. Maybe you'll find some comfort too. In the meantime, I love you all.


	8. Weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short and probably bad, but I was a solid fifteen hundred words into the next one shot ("Months") before I realized that I had actually skipped this one. I spent more time thinking about what this one could be about than I did actually writing it because I could just not figure it out. So I guess this is word vomit? I don't know, read and feel free to let me know what you think!

**VIII**. **Weeks**.

  
“Home sweet home,” Mitch says with false cheer as he swings the door open and steps aside. “You first!”

  
“Thanks.” Scott manages to bite back the sarcasm and smile up at him from the wheelchair. “Guess I don’t have a choice.”

  
“If you want, I can put the brake on and leave you out here.” The tone is teasing but that's why it means so much to Scott.

  
The smile becomes a little more genuine. “On second thought, thanks, Kev.”

  
His answer from Kevin is a gentle tap on the head before he’s wheeled slowly into the apartment. The others follow behind them, Avi pulling the door shut as carefully as he can. The click of the latch sounds deafening in the otherwise quiet room.

  
For a while no one says anything and Scott glances around. The difference hangs over them like a black cloud, but he can’t actually see anything. Everything is as they left it several weeks ago. The now dated magazines on the coffee table, their shoes tucked neatly away in a corner by the door, the coffee cups in the sink (oops). It’s a sort of cluttered neatness that he’s always found comforting, but this time appearances can be deceiving.

  
It’s the atmosphere. The apartment is never this quiet. Even when it’s just him and Mitch. They’re always talking or listening to music or watching television or singing. Now, with the five of them here, it might as well just be empty. Kirstie and Avi are carrying his and Mitch’s bags into their respective rooms, while Kevin insists on wheeling him over to the couch. He lets him stand up on his own though, so Scott can’t complain too much. Mitch is another story.

  
Mitch flits around as if staying still might cause him to explode. Or might make him actually acknowledge the elephant in the room. The elephant in this case, is Scott’s messed up heart. Mitch still hasn’t admitted how much this is breaking him even though it’s been over two weeks. The way he avoids talking about how he feels is like a twisted kind of verbal olympics. It’s almost as if he thinks that acknowledging his own pain might make everything worse.

  
“Wyatt’s coming back tomorrow,” he says, running a finger along the length of the bookcase. He lifts it up for inspection and frowns. “It’s too dusty in here. When was the last time we vacuumed?”

  
“We have a vacuum?”

  
“Shut up.” Mitch rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t look amused. Since Scott’s diagnosis, his laugh lines have been replaced with anxiety lines and his eyes have dark circles underneath from lack of sleep. He purses his lips and then glances at Kevin.

  
“Mitch,” Kevin, as always, is the voice of reason. “He's fine.”

  
“He's here.”

  
“Right.” Kevin claps a hand on Scott's shoulder and squeezes. “Yes he- yes you are. We all are. Mitch, it's the best place for all of us right now. A little dust isn't going to tip the scale one way or another. Just sit down and relax. How about I make lunch?”

  
“Oh, I can make lunch!” Mitch, eager for any distraction, practically bounds into the kitchen area.

  
Scott watches him go and then glances at Kevin. “We don't have any food,” he reminds them both. “Besides, I'm not really hungry.”

  
It's the wrong thing to say apparently. Mitch, who's been staring into an empty fridge, backs up and then whirls around to face him. It's probably not just Scott's imagination when he thinks his friend looks a little paler. “Mitch,” he starts, holding out a hand in protest. “I'm fine. I'm not hungry because it's ten in the morning. We ate breakfast, remember?”

  
It's like walking on eggshells these days. Kirstie cries a lot. Mitch constantly teters on the edge of a panic attack. Even Avi has been a little snippy, and Kevin quieter than usual. Scott falls somewhere in the middle, sometimes wanting to cry and other times wanting to punch a wall. And then there are the times when he feels like he's trying to put out a fire that's only growing bigger and bigger. Like now.

  
“Mitch, come sit down,” Kevin says as Avi and Kirstie wander back out into the main living area to join them.

  
“Is anyone thirsty?”

  
By anyone he really means Scott. Scott looks down at his hands as he feels the back of his neck heat up. It’s embarrassing and overwhelming. All of this fuss makes him feel helpless and suffocated and like he's nothing but an incredible burden on everyone. And there's no end in sight. Scott clenches his jaw, swallowing lump in his throat as tears threaten. “I'm fine. Please. Just come sit down.”

  
“Mitch.” Kirstie steps in, taking Mitch's hand and pulling him away from the kitchen. She leads him over to the couch where Scott is sitting and gently pushes him down. “Sit. Stay.” She sits down on Scott's other side and stares up at him until he obeys.

  
Scott can feel the tension. It's in every inch of Mitch and in Kirstie and Avi and Kevin. It's between all of them. He can see it in the way Avi sits up too straight and the way Kevin starts twiddling his thumbs. He can feel it when Kirstie takes his hand (there's also a lot of hand holding these days) and then lays her head on his shoulder. He can practically hear it in Mitch in the imaginary gears turning in his head as he thinks and thinks and thinks. He takes a deep breath.

  
“So tomorrow I think we should-”

  
“Mitch,” Avi cuts in quietly. “Give it a rest for now.” Mitch opens his mouth to argue but he just shakes his head. “We're all tired. Physically and emotionally. It's been a long few weeks and we just need some down time.”

  
“Yes,” Scott nods enthusiastically, turning to Mitch. “Listen,” he says earnestly. “I appreciate everything you're doing. All of you. I can't ever tell you how thankful I am for you.” His shoulder where Kirstie is resting her head becomes suspiciously damp. Scott reminds himself that he's trying to rein it all in and get them to all ignore it for a while. “But I just want to talk about something else. I want to pretend that none of it's happening. I know it won't help, but it won't hurt either.”

  
Mitch wants to argue. It doesn't take a genius to tell. He wants to fight back, telling everyone that they should finalize plans and come up with backups to concretes and discuss every possible option until they're all blue in the face. But as he stares at Scott, his willpower drains visibly away. For an instant, a shadow passes over his face and he lets down his guard. He looks truly vulnerable. But it's only for an instant. Then the shields go back up and he just nods. “Okay.”

  
It's not perfect. They're not perfect. They're scared and broken and confused. But they're together. And even though that's become less familiar than Scott would like, even though it's become strange, tricky waters to navigate, it's enough. It's all they have. If they lose this, Scott thinks, then they're finished.

  
Three weeks down, he thinks. An eternity to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I saw Pentatonix in Philadelphia on Sunday night and cried and I'm still crying and I honestly don't know what else to say. Scott is a giant and Avi's voice literally made the whole place shake and they sang "Hallelujah" and I could not handle it. I have a video from where I sat Pretty Far Away and you can't really see anything but the audio is enough to make me love it and treasure it forever and cry every time. And I need to go now, sorry for rambling???? The good news is that I made pretty fabulous progress on the next one shot so hopefully the wait won't be as long as it was for this one. And hopefully this was at least a little bit worth the wait. Ok I'm done for real now.


	9. Months

**IX.  Months.**

 

The first month isn't too bad. They're so busy figuring out band and tour crap while also adjusting to new schedules and routines that Mitch wonders if they just missed anything changes in Scott. Which is pretty ironic considering it all has something to do with him. Then again, sometimes there's only so much a person can take. Month one was their break, their buffer in the storm of their lives. Month one is when he spends half his time staring at Scott thinking that there's no way his best friend has a life threatening heart condition. 

Month two is when he starts to notice things though most of it's still pretty subtle. He only notices in the first place because he knows Scott so well. He sleeps a little later and moves a little slower, though he claims he's just tired because he doesn't drink coffee anymore. He follows the diet and exercise routine prescribed to him a little robotically, but doesn't have any trouble with it.  He laughs off Mitch's anxious hovering and teases him about helicopter parenting. The tiny changes in his behavior are still there,  but he's also still undeniably Scott. Month two is a little rougher, like the calm before the storm. Mitch tries to enjoy it and sometimes he does, but most times he can't ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

They're home, he reminds himself. The pacemaker and the medications seem to be doing their job. Scott is surely more tired than usual but maybe that's because he can't drink coffee anymore, just like he says. It makes sense. Doctor Pierce is fantastic, clearly knowledgeable and good at his job and he keeps assuring them that everything looks “really, really great” right now and that “Scott is responding well to all the changes and the treatment”. Mitch finds this infinitely comforting and it's how he sleeps at night; by chanting those words over and over again in his head.

Then they turn the corner into month three and suddenly Mitch has no clue where he is. Month three is when the storm kicks in for real and they're all tossed overboard and fighting to keep their heads above water for fear of drowning. And it happens, literally, overnight.

He wakes to the sound of coughing from Scott's room. A harsh, ugly cough that immediately has him bolting up in bed, sheets wrapping around him as he tries to stand.  “Scott?” he calls, his voice choked with dread.  “Are you okay?”

It takes way too long for him to finally get to his feet and Scott isn’t answering him.  All he can hear is that awful coughing as he stumbles out of his room and into the hallway. His legs are shaking so badly that it's a miracle he makes it to Scott's room without tripping over anything or smashing into a wall or even just collapsing.

He hits the light switch as he runs in and it takes a few long seconds before his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness. Scott is sitting up in bed, doubled over as his body shakes violently with loud, painful sounding coughs. His skin is flushed and his hair sticks to his forehead in sweaty clumps. One hand is pressed tightly to his chest and Mitch isn't sure he's aware of him until he sticks his other hand out, reaching blindly.

“Scotty.” He moves quickly to his friend’s side, taking his hand and giving it a quick squeeze before feeling his forehead. “Oh my god, you're burning up!”

“I'm f-f-freezing,” Scott moans, laying his head down on Mitch's shoulder. “I f-felt fine when I went to b-bed, Mitch. J-just a headache. Now everything hurts.”

“Okay, okay.”  Breathe, Mitch reminds himself. It feels like he's underwater, his movements slow and forceful, and his lungs burning with panic. Breathe. Focus. “Scott, where's your phone?”

Scott nods at his nightstand and Mitch feels like punching himself. Duh. He didn't even look. It's bad enough that he didn't have enough presence of mind to grab his own phone on his way to Scott and now he can just barely get it together.

“Good,” he says, squeezing Scott's hand again. His fingers wrap around his wrist and he tries to feels for a pulse but his own heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that he can't really differentiate between the two. “Scott,” he says as he reaches out for the phone, failing twice before he manages to get a steady grip on it. “Scott, I'm calling 911, okay?”

Scott doesn't protest and that scares Mitch even more. A sob rises up inside of him, tightening his chest even more and he’s grateful that it's only three numbers because he can barely see the screen of the phone. “You're okay,” he whispers, his lips pressing a light kiss to Scott's forehead. “Just hold on.”

He can feel heat radiating from Scott's body and the way he trembles all over as he fights to gain control over the coughing fit, but he can also feel the grip on his hand; a grip that has a surprising amount of strength to it. It's the only thing that keeps Mitch grounded.

“911, please state your emergency.”

“My friend has a really bad cough and he's burning up.” The words tumble out of his lips and again, Mitch reminds himself to breathe so he can at least stay coherent. “He has dilated cardiomyopathy.”

“What's your location?”

Mitch rattles off the address. “Please,” he begs. “Hurry.”

“Okay, sweetie.” The voice on the other end switches from short and businesslike slow and comforting. “Take a deep breath for me. We have paramedics on the way. They should be there in three to five minutes. What's your friend’s name?”

“Scott.” Another sob forces its way out and this time tears are quick to follow. No amount of yelling at himself to pull it together will work and Mitch collapses into a fit of sobbing. “His name is Scott.”

“M-Mitch.” At last Scott manages to take a deep breath in between coughing. He lifts his head from Mitch's shoulder slowly and tries to smile. “-s’okay.  Don't cry.”

His eyes are bloodshot and fever bright. He's still leaning too much against Mitch,  too weak to depend on his own strength to remain upright. He's still shaking. Or is Mitch shaking? It's impossible to tell. It shouldn't be this easy to hold him up though. Has he lost weight?

“Okay, just stay by Scott and let him know help is on the way.” The voice, Mitch thinks it's a woman, soothes gently. “Is he conscious?”

“Y-yes.”

“How about responsive?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. That's excellent. What's your name, hun?”

“Mitch. Are they almost here?” Her voice and her words are having no effect on him. Mitch only has eyes and ears for Scott who, isn't looking any worse, but isn't looking any better either.

“About a minute  away, Mitch. Just keep talking to Scott, okay? Is his breathing okay?”

“Um,” Mitch wipes at his eyes and blinks rapidly to clear his vision. “I g-guess so. I mean he's out of breath from coughing, but he's not wheezing or anything like that.”

“Good.” It must be her favorite word. Right now it's Mitch's favorite word too because he just has to believe her. “Keep talking but make sure he doesn't talk a lot. Let him save his breath and his strength.”

“Mitch?”

“Shhhhhhh,” Mitch shakes his head. “Don't talk. Just. Just try to relax.”

Scott is too obedient, too subdued. He nods his head once and then goes back to leaning against Mitch. The coughing seems to be lessening but his breath sounds unsettled, a barely perceptible rattle from deep in his chest. “Stay?” he asks in an exhausted whisper. His grip on Mitch's hand isn't as strong as before.

Mitch swallows hard and tightens his own grip. “Always,” he says, voice quiet and dry.

The wailing of the sirens interrupts his panicked thoughts and he's filled with relief and dread at the same time. Relief because help is here, but dread because someone has to open the door. “Scott-”

Scott coughs again and it sounds to Mitch like he just might split in half.  “Go. I’m ‘kay.”  He tries to smile again but his face, no longer flushed, is a ghastly color and his eyes are filled with pain.  

Leaving him, seconds after promising that he would stay, is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.  Shaking, Mitch forces his hand to let go of Scott so he can stand and run to the door.  The paramedics are already knocking and he greets them with a rushed, jumble of words that don’t even make sense to his own ears.  He points with a shaking arm down the hall and then follows them back to Scott.  

Left without Mitch to hold him up, Scott has fallen back onto his bed and is curled up into himself.  The coughing seems to have finally really settled, but he’s still shaking and hot to the touch.  Mitch backs off reluctantly as he lets the paramedics crowd over the bed and fights back the wave of panic that come crashing down on him.  Every time he blinks, he gets a flashback to  the night of the concert, now an entire lifetime ago.  Every time he blinks, he sees Scott collapsing and with him, his entire world.

“Sir?”

One of the paramedics steps into his line of vision, jolting him out of the flip flop between past and present.  Mitch stares at the guy wordlessly.  He can hear the others talking to each other and to Scott, and sometimes he can hear Scott responding, but mostly it’s all just white noise roaring in his ears.  

“Sir.”  A gentle hand is laid on his arm and Mitch tries to focus.  “We’re going to take him to the hospital.  It looks like he might have the flu and this can cause complications with his condition.  Do you know how he might have gotten sick?”

“Um,”  Mitch cranes his neck to see over the man’s shoulder.  “I. . . I don’t know anyone who was- is sick.  But um, he has to go to the hospital a lot to get check ups and stuff so-”

The man nods and jots something down on the clipboard on his hands.  “That’s probably what happened,” he says, glancing back at Scott as they begin to load him onto a stretcher.  “Hospitals are a blessing and a curse.  They do all they can to keep people healthy and yet. . .”

And yet, Mitch thinks.  “Wait,” he says softly, stopping the men as they’re wheeling Scott out of the room.  Scott has an oxygen mask over his face now which is scary, but he’s conscious and aware, and Mitch tries to see that past everything else.  

His hand shakes as he gently smoothes it through Scott’s hair, pushing it up off of his forehead.  “Hey, you.  I’ll see you a little bit later, okay?  Just,” he swallows hard, making a pathetic attempt to stop the flow of tears.  “Just hang in there, okay?”

Scott doesn’t say anything, but he grabs Mitch’s hand and gives it one last squeeze.  Mitch stands back helplessly as he watches the paramedics wheel him away, fighting for every inhale and exhale.  “Okay,” he whispers in an answer for himself.  “Just breathe.”

It’s only when the door to the apartment closes that pure, unbridled panic sets in.  He whirls around so quickly that the blood rushes through his head and makes him dizzy.  “Keys,” he mutters to himself, looking to his right, to his left, and then behind and in front of him.  “Keys.  Keys, where are my keys?”

His brain hurts.  His chest hurts.  Everything hurts and feels slow and heavy.  He can’t concentrate.  Mitch yanks open the drawer of the nightstand and dumps the contents out onto the floor.  He tears through the covers on the bed and when he comes up empty, he goes to the closet, checking in the pockets of every shirt and jacket hanging inside.  Nothing.

Running out into the living and kitchen area, he searches the coffee table, the counter tops, and even in the couch cushions, but it’s all for naught.  The panic keeps building and building, and he can’t see or think or breathe.  Giving up, he pulls out his phone again and blindly calls the first name in his contacts list.  

It rings once, twice, three times before Avi answers in a sleepy voice that’s even deeper than usual.  “Mitch?  Is everything okay?”

He shakes his head before he remembers that Avi can’t see him.  “Scott’s sick,” he chokes out.  “They took him to the hospital, but I-I can’t find my keys, Avi, I don’t know where my keys are and-” Mitch stops short, the rest of the words dying on his lips as he fights to control his breathing.

There's a beat of silence on the other end and then Avi’s voice, crystal clear and calm as if this is old hat for him. “Okay, okay, Mitch. This is what I'm going to do. I'm going to come get you and we're going to go to the hospital together. After we get there, I'll call Kevin and Kirstie. Just stay on the line with me for now, okay, Mitch? Don't hang up.”

Kevin and Kirstie. Mitch hasn't even thought of them. But he can't think of them now. There's no space left in his brain. All he can think of is Scott and sometimes Avi when he hears his other friend’s voice, low and steady, tethering him to the ground, anchoring him to safety. He coaches him through breathing, something that has become a foreign concept to Mitch these days and tells him that everything is going to be okay. Mitch can't bear to question him on that because the alternative is simply unimaginable. He doesn't ask any questions, doesn't tell Mitch to do anything except sit and wait and breathe.

It's only seven minutes before he arrives to find Mitch sitting on the floor but it feels like eternity. Mitch is only aware of exactly where he is when Avi is kneeling down next to him, a hand on his shoulder and eyes full of worry. “I'm fine,” he manages. “But Scott, Avi.  He-”

“Okay, okay.”  Avi’s hands cover Mitch's and clasp them until they stop shaking. “Just look at me, Mitch. Take a deep breathe.”

Mitch obeys, drawing in as much air as his lungs will allow. Avi’s eyes are still worried but they're also clear and focused. Except for the tears but Mitch tries not to think about them. “I tried to find my keys,” he explains weakly. It sounds so stupid now but he feels like he has to say it. Give some reason for this panic attack that has made him absolutely useless.

Avi nods encouragingly like he doesn't find it stupid at all. “I know. I know you did, Mitch. And it's okay that you didn't find them. You called me and I'm here. And before that you took good care of Scott, I want you to know that. I need you to know that you did exactly what he needed. Okay?”

If Mitch had a penny for every time he, or one of the others has said the word “okay” they would all be billionaires and they could buy Scott a new freaking heart and this nightmare would be over.  But alas. Mitch just nods. “Can we-”

“Of course. Here.” Avi stands and then offers Mitch a hand, pulling him up to his feet. When Mitch sways, Avi remains steady.

“Okay.”


	10. Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IIIIII am currently wishing I could sleep forever so I have nothing else to say? lol sorry.

**X.  Years.**

 

When they were ten, and performing together in  _ “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” _ , Mitch got a splinter from one of the prop pieces backstage. It wedged up underneath the fingernail of his left pinky and hurt worse than anything he could ever remember at the time. Scott took it upon himself to introduce him to Lauren's mom. Lauren, who was playing Violet Beauregard, had told him once that she was a nurse so Scott sought her out in the middle of practice so she could help Mitch. 

“My new friend Mike Teavee has a splinter,” were his exact words. And then he glanced over at Mitch, hiding a sheepish giggle between his hands. “I forget your real name.” And Mitch couldn't blame him because they had only met three minutes ago.

Scott stayed with him, holding onto his good hand as Violet’s mom extracted the splinter with a pair of tweezers from her purse. He voted for the pink bandaid over the green one, telling Mitch that it would look nicer with his black t-shirt.

When they were thirteen, Mitch twisted his ankle on the trampoline in Scott's backyard. They were home alone, but Scott somehow knew what to do.  He knew all about the R.I.C.E. treatment.  “Rest, ice, compression, and elevate,” he recited as he helped Mitch sit down on the couch.  Then, with his nose wrinkling up in confusion, “Hey, what does compression mean?”

Mitch never told Scott, but that’s when he first thought another boy was cute.  When Scott’s nose scrunched up and his lips turned downwards in a frown.  He wasn’t exactly embarrassed by the thought itself, but rather that this was Scott.  His best friend.  

When they were seventeen, Mitch had appendicitis one week before they were set to graduate high school.  He woke up in the middle of the night with blinding pain in his stomach, crying for his mother like he was five years old again.  

He passed out from the pain when he got to the hospital and when he woke up again, the surgery was over.  He had the easiest case of appendicitis in history, the doctor told him.  The fact that he “slept through practically the whole thing” apparently canceled out the thirty-six minutes of absolute agony that he did feel.

Scott was the first one he saw after waking up.  Scott with his blue, blue eyes that were curiously rimmed in red even though the first thing out of his mouth was, “I’m going to kill you if you miss graduation,” followed by a stream of teasing words.  Kirstie told him later that day that Scott was a bigger wreck than his mom and dad put together.

When they were nineteen, they were on The Sing-Off and Mitch was really struggling with his panic attacks. They were far from home, without any parents, they were performing in front of larger crowds than all of the ones who had ever watched them combined, and of course there was the general stress of actually competing. It was too much. Or it would have been too much it it hadn't been for Scott.

When they were twenty and moved to LA, riding high fresh off their Sing-Off victory only to be dropped by the record label months later, it was Scott who picked up all the pieces and told them to keep going.

When they were twenty-one and Mitch's parents called from Texas to tell him that his childhood cat Bluebelle had passed away at the ripe old age of sixteen, Scott bought him a plane ticket to go home for a few days. All over a cat.

When they were twenty-two, Mitch got a mild concussion from an ill fated ski trip (even today Mitch wonders why it happened in the first place). Scott stayed up all night long, waking him up periodically to make sure he was alright.

When they were twenty-three, Mitch broke up with a long term boyfriend and Scott was there to hold him when he cried. He was there to tell him that he was so very worthwhile and that one day some guy was going to be the luckiest guy in the whole world.

When they were twenty-four, Scott broke up with his long term boyfriend and didn't miss a beat. Told Mitch that as long as he had him, Kirstie, Kevin, and Avi, he would be okay. He put an unmistakable emphasis on Mitch though and that's when they made their little “if we’re thirty-five and still single then we'll just be together” deal official.

Mitch wasn't really one to toss the words “always” and “never” around as carelessly as others did, but he always imagined Scott by his side, even when they were one hundred and ten. He never imagined that at just twenty-five, Scott’s heart would give out.

He never imagined that all they had worked so hard for, all Scott had worked so hard for, could be ripped away so viciously and suddenly. He never imagined that he'd been simultaneously pushing his friends away and pulling them closer in an impossible attempt to hold it all together. He never imagined that one little strain of the flu virus could threaten them like this.

He always imagined great things for them, and that included health. He always imagined success to, if not off their talent, then purely off of Scott's stubbornness which was frankly, unmatchable. He always imagined being himself; happy and content and at peace, because Scott was happy and content and at peace. He just always imagined Scott in the equation. Scott has always been there for him. An alternative just doesn't work.  It doesn't add up.

Mitch lets the thoughts swirl around in his head, too emotionally exhausted to push them away. He stares hard at Scott, asleep in the hospital bed, until his vision blurs and then he blinks it clear and goes back to staring.

Scott is too pale. There's an almost grayish cast to his skin that in Mitch's mind carves out hollows in his face and makes him look truly sick. An oxygen mask covers his mouth and nose “just as a precaution”. Doctor Pierce had been very gentle with them but the cardiologist had not sugarcoated anything.

The flu had caused complications, putting a lot of strain on Scott's heart. The IV in his arm was delivering medicine that would hopefully ease the strain while also ward off possible infection. “If he does develop an infection, then we're looking at surgery to repair any damage that will occur. But if we manage to avoid infection, then he can go home as soon as he's feeling better.”

The words sounded muffled to Mitch, like he was in one end of a very long, dark tunnel, and they were coming from the other end. Kirstie had asked questions, her voice small and broken by the threat of tears. Questions like, “When will we know?” and “Is he in pain?” the latter making Mitch bite down on his lip until he tastes blood. When Doctor Pierce nodded sympathetically, he bit down harder.

That was then, this is now.  Now they’re left to sit and wait.  Wait for Scott to wake up.  Wait to see if there’s an infection.  If there is an infection, then things are going to be really bad.  Worse.  If there’s not an infection, then things will still be bad, but less of a nightmare.  It’s a dangerously thin line they’re walking and Mitch hates that it exists in the first place, but he’ll settle for Scott waking up.  He’s gotten very good at this whole “take one day at a time” thing.

Scott is sleeping, he reminds himself.  Just sleeping.  He’s not in a coma or anything major like that.  Sleeping is harmless.  Good even.  Scott needs to sleep.  It’ll help him.  But he can only tell himself this so many times before he gives up and admits that he just really wants Scott to wake up.  

Usually he likes to watch Scott sleep.  That probably sounds creepy to a stranger, but Mitch can’t help himself.  And he doesn’t care to help himself either.  Scott always smiles when he sleeps. Mitch has countless pictures of him sound asleep with a goofy smile on his face and scrolling through them on his phone never fails to make him feel better. It's too bad he left his phone on the floor of the apartment.

Scott is also an extraordinarily deep sleeper and every once in awhile he talks. When he does talk, he seems to keep a running commentary on his dreams and this has never failed to be hilarious.

He also just looks really really peaceful. For as long as Mitch has known him, even at the age of ten, Scott has had a drive and a determination to do the absolute best, and he always pushed himself to reach his full potential and beyond. Excitable and filled with nervous energy, the only time he's ever truly still is when he's asleep. Mitch enjoys seeing that.

This time is different.  Scott’s brow is furrowed slightly. It's a reminder that he's in pain even though he's sleeping, and even though he should be resting. There isn't even a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.  And yeah, he's just too pale. Mitch feels awful but he can barely stand to look at his friend without feeling himself come undone.

Kirstie is with him. Avi and Kevin left the hospital to bring back “good coffee”, and while they'll probably deliver, Mitch knows they really left for another reason.

“He's worried about you.” Kirstie says quietly. Predictably. 

Mitch shakes his head. He had her words programmed in his brain but he forgot to come up with a reply. So when he does speak, he's fully aware that it's literally the stupidest thing on earth even as the words leave his lips. “Which is just. . . stupid, because I'm not the one with the broken heart.”

“Are you sure about that?” Her words are soft, as gentle as can be. Her small hand takes his and Mitch finds his gaze drawn to her. She looks almost as pale as Scott, though she's without the grayish cast. Her eyes are red but underneath are dark circles. She looks utterly exhausted and not just from tonight. From everything.

But when he meets her gaze, she lifts her chin up a little and the faintest hint of a light sparks her eyes briefly. “It's not going to make him any worse if you talk to him,” she says, her voice still faint. “I think it might even make him feel better. Because he won't be so worried.”

She's right. He knows this. But it's easier said than done. Scott has always able to take care of him. He's always known just what to say and just what to do to make everything better. He's always taken care of Mitch. He shouldn't have to now. Not with the way things are these days. It's wrong. Backwards and upside down.

“It's okay to be sad,” Kirstie adds, staring thoughtfully at Scott. “It's okay to be angry and scared and confused. It's okay to not be okay. What's not okay is to pretend you're okay for the sake of others because you're hurting yourself and that's hurting others and we're all hurting, Mitch, and you don't have to hurt that way.”

Mitch blinks, momentarily distracted by her small tangent. “I'm not sure if I understand-”

“She's right, you know.”

The voice startles both of them. Kirstie jumps, elbowing Mitch in the process. “Scott!” she exclaims in a louder tone that's mixed with relief and dread. A curious combination but one that Mitch knows all too well. “You're awake.”

“Astute observation, K.” Scott offers up a sleepy grin, then coughs, the sound sending shivers up Mitch's spine even if it's quiet and only once.

He hasn't taken his oxygen mask completely off but he's holding it away from his face so he can speak. Mitch lifts a hand to help him out it back on. Hell he knows he doesn't need. His hand shakes badly as does his voice when he says, “You really should wear this until Doctor Pierce comes back.”

Instead, Scott catches his hand and holds it until he stops. “Mitch,” he says so quietly that Mitch barely catches the next words. “You're crying.”

Scott won't let go of him, but Mitch lifts his free hand to his face, surprised his fingertips come away wet. “I am.”

He doesn't know why he's crying this time. If it's because he's relieved that Scott is awake or if it's because he's so freaking terrified, but what Mitch does know is that he can't stop it from happening. “I'm sorry.”

Scott tugs gently at his hand. “C’mere.” And Mitch finds it all too familiar and all too easy to fall into his arms as he cries. The only difference is the noticeable lack of strength in the embrace that makes him cry even harder. The fear and the stress has taken more of a toll on him than he thought and now he has virtually no control.

“You're going to be okay, Mitchy,” Scott whispers in his ear. “And for now, like Kirstie said, it's okay if you're not okay. That doesn't change anything about the way any of us feel about you. We love you the same. I love you the same.”

He's stuck on that first part. The “you're going to be okay.” part. If he could stop crying long enough to catch his breath, he's protest. Because there's no way he's going to be okay until Scott is okay. And that's not really a guarantee anymore.

“I need you, Scott.” The words slip unbidden from his lips in between sobs and Mitch finally gives up on the idea of trying to stop this process of falling apart. By this point it's a runaway train and there's nothing he can do. “I need you. I-I can't lose you, I can't even think about you. Every time I do, I feel like I'm going to go insane and I can't breathe or think or function and I just can't, Scott. And as hard as I'm trying not to think about it, it's all I can think about and I hate it, I hate it all so much, Scott.”

“I know.” Scott is quiet for a long while, distractedly rubbing Mitch's back, his hand moving in slow, small circles. He rests his chin on top of Mitch's head and sighs deeply. “I hate it too. But I'm here right now. That's gotta count for something, right?”

Mitch can't help but smile a little bit. “It counts a lot,” he admits. “I just. . . have trouble reminding myself sometimes. It's hard. It's so easy to look at the big, scary picture and not be able to think of anything else.”

“Than talk to me,” Scott begs. Mitch pulls away to see his blue eyes staring back at him. “Whenever you're scared, talk to me. Whenever you're angry, yell at me. Whenever you're sad, cry on me. But please, Mitch, don't push me away. Because that's something I can't handle.”

“I promise,” Mitch whispers, his voice hoarse from crying. “I promise.”

And then, because he keeps his promises, he lays his head back down and cries some more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ??????


	11. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what this is? I'm sorry.

**XI.  Red**

 

Red is a color with many emotions.  

 It was like the jealousy that flamed up when Scott and Alex got serious.  It happened so suddenly that he didn’t know how to react to it.  Date nights turned into more than a weekly thing.  Within three months, Alex was watching them rehearse, attending shows whenever possible, and even helping Scott write.  Within six, he practically lived at their apartment (though to be fair, Scott had asked and Mitch had approved).  

It was stupid.  Mitch was stupid.  Scott and Alex were happy together.  Their love seemed genuine.  They made a really cute couple (even the fans approved!) and it was impossible to feel like a third wheel around them.  They went out of their way to make sure that Mitch felt included and that everything stayed as close to “before” as possible.  Mitch loved them, he really did.  And he was truly happy for Scott.  Alex was a great guy and it there was anyone good enough for Scott, it was him.  

But sometimes that old saying circled around in his mind:   _Two is company, three's a crowd_.  Sometimes he resented Alex’s presence.  Sometimes he longed for the days when it was just Mitch and Scott, Scott and Mitch. Scomiche.  

Sometimes it sucked not being the only one in Scott’s life.

* * *

 

Red is the love in the roses Scott sent Mitch the first Valentines Day that they're both single in a long while. He did it anonymously but because Mitch wasn't blind or deaf and would have had to be both to miss the stupidly wide grin and over dramatic “WOW”, he also gave himself away within two minutes.

“You're an idiot,” Mitch said with a roll of his eyes. But he couldn't hide his own smile as he rummaged in the cabinets for a vase. They were really beautiful roses.

“Takes one to know one,” Scott quipped, which only made Mitch roll his eyes again because really, were they in middle school again? “Fine.” Scott nudged him away from the high shelf and reached up to get the case himself. “Birds of a feather.”

Mitch snatched the vase away, giving Scott a light shove with his free hand. “Or maybe,” he suggested, running the vase under a brief stream of warm water to rinse it of any dust. Who knows when they had last used it. “Maybe opposites attract. You're the idiot, I'm the genius.”

He could practically hear the gears in Scott's mind turning as he tried to think of a quick comeback. His grin widened victoriously at the blank look that eventually crossed his face. “Don't worry,” he said, burying his nose in the roses and inhaling their sweet scent. “You're my idiot.”

It was sweet and sentimental, a gesture of friendship that would be too much for anyone but Scott. Mitch felt bad for the self-indulgent pity party he had been ready to throw for himself. He hadn't even thought of Scott whose big breakup was far more recent than his own.

“Well,” Scott leaned his elbows on the counter, propping his chin in hands as he watched Mitch. “This idiot knows you hate being a single lady on Valentine’s Day so this idiot thought it might make it all a little less bitter and a little more sweet. Still bittersweet though, ‘cuz there's only so much this idiot can do.”

Mitch stared at Scott over the roses, trying to shove the guilt back down and stomp on it until it went back into hiding. He was a terrible friend. Really, he had been complaining so much about singleness and Valentine’s that he hadn't thought-

“No.” Scott suddenly reached over the roses and tapped Mitch's nose with his finger. “Don't feel bad.”

“Did you just. . . boop me?”

He did it again. Twice this time. “Boop, boop.”

“Stop!” Mitch swatted his hand away.

Scott blinked impassively. “Then don't feel guilty.”

Of course he read his mind. That was the (one) trouble with having a lifelong best friend. There were very little, if any secrets, to be kept. Mitch frowned. “I'm sorry I didn't-”

But Scott is already shaking his head, dismissing the apology. “Watch _Spongebob_ with me and all will be forgiven.”

Really, sometimes it was too easy being Scott's friend.

* * *

 

Red is the anger he felt when he was running on two hours of sleep and Scott just wouldn't quit. Rehearsals had been going on for way too long and they were all pretty short and snippy with one another at that point. Even Kevin had gotten quiet which meant he was reaching his limits. Kevin was by far the most patient person Mitch had ever known so when he was annoyed, everyone else was borderline murderous.

“One more run-through,” Scott was saying as he tucked a pencil behind his ear.

He was met with three different groans while Kevin merely pursed his lips. “Scott, you said that four run-throughs ago,” Kirstie protested. “Please, it's not going to get any better today. We're all exhausted and frustrated and I'd be shocked if we ended up accomplishing anything at this point.”

She was backed up by three nods and this time it was Scott's turn to look annoyed. “Look,” he said, trying way too hard to reign in his temper. “The tour kicks off in less than a week. Everything just needs a little fine tuning and then we’ll be good to go, but I don't want to leave this as is. I want to end on a good note.”

“Sometimes, you just gotta let things go, Scott.” Avi was staring at his phone as he spoke. No surprise there. Avi and Scott clashed more often than any other possible combination in the group, and even then it happened extremely rarely. Still, that was usually because Avi did his best to avoid confrontation. Eye contact for him, especially in this moment, probably equaled snapping at Scott and who knew where things would go from there?

“Let it go?” Scott was the worst at taking hints. He stared at Avi, more taken aback than angry. Again very typical. He was oblivious. “But Avi-”

“Look, Scott. We're very fortunate, okay? We have a bad rehearsal three times a year. But when it happens, I think it's best to let everyone walk away and distance themselves from the negativity so we can all think more clearly and come back tomorrow fresh and more relaxed.”

“Kevin-”

“Oh my god, Scott, will you actually listen to anyone? No one wants to stay. We're all tired and ready for a break. Quit being so oblivious and pay attention to what we're saying. It's not the end of the world if we end rehearsals on a less than stellar note. You're being an idiot.”

It went quiet for a few seconds that seemed way too long to Mitch. He bit down on his lip, waiting for the guilt, but it didn't come. He just felt angry and somehow that was worse. Anger was an ugly, uncomfortable feeling that didn't suit him, and the fact that it was directed straight at Scott made it worse. The additional fact that he wanted to say even more was just the icing on the cake. It couldn't get any worse, right?

“I'm just really sick of listening to the sound of your voice.”

Oh. Apparently it could. Lack of control could do that. Kevin was stepping in now, looking like he wanted to smack and then hug both of them. Bless Kevin. It took him forever to get angry and then he was never angry for long. Mitch, on the other hand was apparently still boiling over.

“I can't even stand to be in the same room as you right now.”

Sometimes it was really hard to be Scott's friend.

* * *

 

Red is the panic that came with the dreams he had in the weeks leading up to the tour. The nightmares haunted him nearly every night with horrifying clarity and a realness he couldn't quite shake even long after he had woken up. They were varied but they all had the same theme: Scott was dying right in front of Mitch and he could do nothing to stop it.

Sometimes he was drowning, disappearing under the surface of black water and appearing to choke and gasp and cry out for help. Sometimes it was a gunshot wound and he was bleeding and bleeding, his blood staining Mitch's hands and clothes and seeping underneath his skin where it burned like fire. Sometimes it was a car accident, his entire body crushed and by twisted metal and burned by the flames that kept Mitch from reaching him. Sometimes he froze to death, lost in a blinding swirl of ice and snow, his lips blue and his face gray as he went to sleep only to never wake again.

And sometimes he fell. Out of all of his nightmares, Mitch hated the falling ones the most. He couldn't put his finger on it. They were all horrific, who wants to see his best friend bleeding to death?

Maybe it was the suddenness. Everything else gave Mitch this sense that he could do something to help him. There was hope. He could reach out and grab his hand, and pull him out of the water. He could stop the bleeding. He could reach through the flames to pull him from the wreckage. He could wake him from his dangerous slumber and tell him to keep walking until he found shelter. As desperate as it seemed, Mitch always felt that there was something. He wasn't powerless.

The falling dreams were so different. One second he was there, and the next he was just gone. It happened in the blink of an eye. The suddenness never failed to shake Mitch to his core, sending him into a blind panic as alarm bells went off in his head and made his ears ring. Where was Scott? What happened? Where did he go? There were no cliffs, no ledges for him to fall off of. Just swirling blankets of nothingness. Like a thick white fog that Scott would disappear into. Mitch would search and search, calling out his name in fear and desperation only to receive no reply. There was nothing. He was alone.

Perhaps it was the aloneness that scared him the most then. Mitch had vague, blurry childhood memories of his life before he met Scott, but it was all in quick little snapshots that he had mostly forgotten because he didn't even bother to try and hold them closer. As far as he was concerned, they were irrelevant. He had no memory at all of going more than three days without seeing Scott since they met at ten years old.

Now there were these dreams that took Scott away from him without explanation or even a real cause. It felt like his left arm was suddenly gone. He felt wrong. Incomplete. Less of a person without his person.

“It's only a dream,” he'd tell himself whenever he woke up, shaky and sweating, tear stains on his face. “Only a dream.” He'd chant the words over and over again in his head, but he never stopped shaking until he crept across the hall to Scott's room to see for himself. Fortunately, Scott was a ridiculously heavy sleeper so he never woke up. Mitch would stay long enough to count the deep, even breaths his friend was taking and then he'd let out his own breath and carefully, quietly, tiptoe back to his own room

“Only a dream.”

Always, it terrified Mitch to think of his life without Scott.

* * *

 

Red is the pain he feels every single day now. The deep, sorrowful ache that comes from facing a situation where he's completely helpless. It burrows deep in his chest and stays with him all day and all night. Never a morning person before, Mitch now treasures the first fifteen seconds of waking because for that precious space of time, he doesn't remember. As the last few cobwebs of sleep cling to him, he feels happy and peaceful. Everything is right.

Then the sorrow comes roaring back, slamming into his chest and leaving him momentarily breathless. It cuts into him until he's wide open and The pain is agonizing, a white hot stabbing that has him biting his lip to keep from crying out loud.  He’s surprised; the emotional pain is so physical.  It’s unexpected and he’s not sure how to handle it.  It’s not as if he can put a Band-Aid on something that has left him so wide open and vulnerable.  

They talk more often now.  There’s this question that they all ask each other each day:  “One to ten?”  Ten is great.  Ten is practically perfect.  Ten doesn’t exist for anyone anymore.  Even though everything is different.  It’s all relative.  So ten might still exist, it’s just different from what it used to be.  But to Mitch, ten still implies perfection.  And perfection doesn’t exist unless all of them are safe and healthy.  

So they never say ten.  Not even Kevin, though he usually says that he’s at an eight and a half or a nine.  Avi and Kirstie both claim a seven or an eight while Mitch figures he’s safe at a solid seven even if it is a lie.  It’s a little white lie.  Six is more likely, maybe even five on the bad days.  But he’s coping and what more can anyone ask?  Really, it’s more of an exaggeration than a lie.  Scott does the same thing.  It’d be funny if it wasn’t so terrible.  

Everything is quieter these days.  The pain has subdued them all.  They laugh a lot less and speak in soft voices, as if they’re afraid that speaking too loudly will somehow worsen the pain.  They fear it.  As if it’s a monster that sleeps under the bed or in the closet.  Except, those were the monsters they feared as children.  The monsters that turned out to be no more than figments of overactive imagination.  

But this monster, this pain, is very real.  And Mitch is afraid that it’s inside each of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I was trying for was a string of snapshots that was at least vaguely coherent, but I am not coherent myself these days. BUT. I was having trouble writing this anyway? I don't know? I'm stopping now, sorry, sorry, sorry.


	12. Orange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try not to pay attention to how loosely these chapters are based on their titles because then I would just cry and never write. I'm sorry??

**XII. Orange.**  

Mitch likes sunrises more than sunsets. Both are equally beautiful with their swirls of colors painting the sky. But one exchanges its colors for darkness while another gives way to light.

  
Watching the sunset fills him with an odd kind of sadness. The bright ball of fire sinking lower and lower on the horizon, streaks of yellows and oranges and reds dimming to more subdued and darker blues and purples until there's nothing but black. To Mitch, sunsets symbolize the end and he's not a fan of endings. He never has been and he certainly isn't now.

  
Sunrises are the complete opposite. They speak of new beginnings, hopes and promises. Of light overcoming darkness once more. They speak of life. The seemingly endless darkness gives way to those same beautiful colors but this time in reverse; black into blues and purples, and blues and purples into reds and oranges and yellows. The sun rises, its light reaching out over the earth until the last shadows are chased away. The sky settles on a gentle blue that reminds Mitch of Scott's eyes.

  
“You're such a romantic,” Scott says when he confesses all of this to him early one morning as they're watching a particularly beautiful sunrise. But he says it with a smile and an admiring tone. “It's one of my favorite things about you.”

  
“Don't talk like that,” Mitch protests as he tries to focus on the swirling mix of flames lighting up the sky. He shivers and pulls his hoodie more tightly around himself. “Like you're talking about memories or something.”

  
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the confusion pass over Scott's face and frankly, he can't really blame him. He's not making sense. “You're the one who's talking about endings and beginnings,” Scott points out gently.

  
Touché.

  
The quiet that stretches between them isn't necessarily bad but it feels empty. Not quite like the contented silences they sit in when there's nothing left to say.

  
There's a lot that Mitch wants to say, but he's afraid to say it. He doesn't want to admit or acknowledge it, but he wonders if he needs to. It turns out that ignoring the elephant in the room doesn't make it go away. It usually makes things even worse.

  
“What's on your mind?” Scott asks softly as the light extends its reach towards them.

  
Mitch stares at the floor, watching the beam of light on the carpet that inches closer and closer to his bare feet and Scott's purple socks. “I'm scared,” he lets the words slip out and they ghost across the empty space between the two of them. “I feel like everywhere I turn, I'm reminded of this whole thing. I see endings and beginnings in the rising and setting of the sun, I skip songs before the very last note so I won't have to admit that it's over, I haven't finished a book in weeks because, well, the same thing. It all circles back around and makes me think of this. Of you.”

  
He waits for Scott to tell him he's being a drama queen. He wants Scott to tell him that he's being a drama queen. Needs it. Because that would mean he has reason to believe otherwise. But Scott is quiet, slipping his hand into Mitch's and giving it a gentle squeeze. Is that it?

  
Mitch swallows the lump that's rising in his throat and blinks to clear his vision. The light on the floor lingers just before his toes, teasing them. He waits, breathless with anticipation for Scott to speak, silently begging for him to say something.

  
“Endings aren't always a bad thing,” Scott finally says. It's the very last thing Mitch wants to hear and his heart sinks. “Because then we get to look back on all the great times that we had. We'll always have our memories.”

  
In the blink of an eye, the sun has finally spilled into the small room, filling it with light and warmth. “Memories aren't always enough,” he whispers and leans over to rest his head lightly on top of Scott's shoulder. They're never enough. “And I thought of another reason I don't like sunsets.”

  
“What is it?”

  
“Sunrises are warm,” Mitch gazes out the window, watching as the world begins anew. “At least, they mean that it's going to be warm.” Again, it's a promise. He's all about promises now evidently. Which is ironic seeing as how any made these days might easily be broken even with the best of intentions. “Sunsets. . . they're cold.”

  
“Light and warm. Dark and cold.” Scott muses quietly. “I think there's more to it if you try, Mitchy. You're gonna give the sun a complex if you keep pointing out all this negative stuff when it sets.”

  
Mitch laughs in spite of himself. “If the sun takes issue with anything I have to say, then the sun down take it up with me.”

  
He can hear the smile in Scott's face when he says, “Poor sun.”

  
They sit in a more familiar silence this time. Mitch closes his eyes, escaping for the briefest of moments into a blissful ignorance. Hear no evil, see no evil. Peace envelops him and he longs to hold onto this moment forever. Here, in this little bubble of time, they're safe.

  
Then Scott coughs and it's nothing but it still makes Mitch jump. The illusion is shattered as he sits up, running his gaze up and down Scott who rolls his eyes at him. “One to ten?” he asks critically.

  
“Seven,” Scott replies promptly, which really means six. When Mitch doesn't say anything right away, he sighs and adds, “I'm a little tired and cold but other than that, I'm fine.”

  
He's always cold now. Mitch offers a tentative smile. “Maybe you should try to sleep in tomorrow,” he suggests, though the selfish part of him treasures these moments above all else. “Get some more rest. Or hey, why don't you go back to bed now?”

  
“Because I have an appointment at eight,” Scott reminds him. “and then you promised we'd have a breakfast picnic.”

  
Mitch frowns at him. “Picnic?” he repeats doubtfully. “I don't remember promising you any kind of picnic.”

  
He watches Scott lift one shoulder in a shrug and a guilt smile graces his face. “Okay, I might have tacked that on at the end hoping you would just go with it.”

  
“Taking advantage of my inability to think straight these days?” Mitch guesses, lifting an eyebrow. “Pretty manipulative, Hoying. I didn't know you had it in you.”

  
“Guilty as charged.” Scott ducks his head, his smile slipping a bit. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. Can I plead guilty by reason of insanity? Because I've been so bored that I'm afraid I might actually go crazy. Just-” he snaps his fingers for emphasis.

  
“And you call me a drama queen,” Mitch rolls his eyes. But he does feel bad. Scott has a point. They've become so engrossed in hospital visits and doctor’s appointments and everything that involves his disease that it's pretty much taken over their lives. If they're not actually dealing with it, they're talking about it. It's inescapable.

  
Though. . . Mitch studies Scott closely. His eyes are bright and his color looks better. He recovered rather nicely from the flu that had scared them all so badly and even though he's not fully himself, he could almost pass for totally healthy.

  
“Maybe getting out will do us all some good,” he relents, instantly rewarded with the smile that lights up Scott's whole face. “I'll text the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked this one I think? Thoughts? Sorry!!


	13. Yellow

  **XIII.  Yellow**

 

The sun is warm on Scott's face. It feels so good. So freeing. The fresh air feels incredible too. It's a perfect day. A light breeze rustled the leaves on the trees overhead but the sunshine up above keeps things from getting too chilly. He closes his eyes, taking in the moment so he can hold onto it long after it's over.

  
“This was a good idea,” Mitch murmurs close to his ear.

  
Scott doesn't open his eyes just yet. He listens. Listens to the sound of the breeze. The sound of kids laughing and people talking off in the distance. The birds are singing. There's even a dog somewhere, probably barking at a squirrel. He couldn't have scripted a better day himself. “Told you.”

  
He can practically hear Mitch's eyeballs rolling around inside his head. A hand reaches out blindly and swats at his face. “Okay, okay. You might have mentioned that a few thousand times. You were right. Great idea, Scott. There. Happy. Now?”

  
Yes. So incredibly happy. Scott opens his eyes, squinting as they adjust to the bright sun all over again. “Very.”

  
He feels Mitch shift from beside him and then the sun is being blocked by his friend’s face. Normally, this isn't something Scott would protest, but he's missed the sun whereas Mitch has become his second shadow. “Hey.”

  
“Sorry.” Mitch contradicts himself by not moving. Scott opens his mouth to protest when he sees the wavering concern in Mitch's brown eyes. “One to ten?” he asks hesitantly.

  
“Honestly?” Scott thinks. He can't genuinely remember the last time he felt this great. “Eight? Nine?” Nine seems a bit of an exaggeration because it's not like he's up for going for a jog, but he still feels pretty fabulous. Besides, in all his life he's never been up for a jog. “How ‘bout you, sunshine?”

  
Mitch stares at him a while longer, looking wistful. Finally, he smiles and then flops back down on the grass, his shoulder brushing against Scott's. “Same. Eight and a half?”

  
Eight and a half sounds fair.

  
Scott goes back to staring up at the sky. White, fluffy clouds drift by, passing over the sun. He squints, lifting a hand to shield his eyes as the sun peaks in and out.

  
“Are you warm enough?”

  
“Mitch.”

  
“Sorry.”

  
Scott sighs. “I'm fine, I promise. Better than fine. I haven't felt this good in a while. Since. . . before. I feel good. I feel rested. I feel happy. I feel-”

  
The yellow sun emerges from behind another, beaming down on them at full strength. Scott squeezes his eyes shut. “I feel warm.”

  
He's been cold a lot lately, only adding to the mental list he knows Mitch is keeping. The Things to be Anxious About list. The cold intolerance has something to do with his heart’s inability to pump blood properly. It makes sense, Scott just likes to ignore as much as he possibly can, yet another thing Mitch has on his list.

  
Mitch is way too patient with him over all of this. Scott knows it's not easy for any of them and fortunately, miraculously he thinks, they seem to have fallen into a pattern of each doing what they do best. Kevin is the quiet positivity they all need, giving them hope and peace just by being there. Avi is stoic and sensible, finding that almost impossible to find balance between talking about it and talking about anything but it. Kirstie is the sweet and supportive hand to hold and shoulder to cry on. And Mitch is the one who doesn't punch him in the face despite Scott giving him every reason to.

  
He ignores Scott's attempts to brush off how he's feeling, whether it be physically or emotionally. Pesters until he gets an answer he's satisfied with. Pretends that Scott never has moments where he handles the whole situation like a two year old. Lets him have his miniature temper tantrums and then tells him it's okay so long as he's okay. He fits seamlessly into whatever Scott needs.

  
It makes Scott sorta feel like a monster sometimes.

  
“I'm sorry.”

  
“You don't have anything to be sorry for. Even if you are a brat sometimes.”

  
One corner of Scott's mouth quirks upwards. “You put up with me more than you should. And I'm sorry about that.”

  
Mitch sits up again, blocking out the sun once more. His brown eyes are serious and thoughtful. “I don't mind,” he says quietly. “I don't mind because you're not trying to be anyone else. You're stubborn which sometimes comes off as selfish even though you're anything but. You try to keep things to yourself because you like to do things your way. You don't volunteer much information but you give it whenever I ask. And I believe you.” His head tilts to one side as he offers a small smile. “Most of the time.”

  
“Thanks for the psychology analysis,” Scott tries to joke, laughing a little when Mitch pretends to hit him again.

  
“I've known you so long that it comes with the territory. Hazard of being best friends,” Mitch retorts. “Practically no secrets.”

  
Scott looks up at him. “Goes both ways.”

  
They stare at each other for a while, lost in their thoughts. Scott reaches out and finds Mitch's hand. “Thank you,” he whispers.

  
Mitch tries to smile again but even Scott has to admit that it's a pretty pathetic attempt. He swings their joined hands a couple of times and then lays them lightly on top of Scott's chest.

  
Scott waits, feeling the beat of his heart beneath his and Mitch's fingertips. The pacemaker helps to regulate everything so it feels normal. How bizarre, he thinks, to feel a mostly normal heartbeat and yet have everything else feel at least slightly off kilter. The fatigue no matter how much he sleeps. The chill no matter how many layers he wears. The lack of strength no matter what he's tried to maintain it. Eating right. Exercising according to the strict guidelines his doctor gave him.

  
It's not like he wakes up every day feeling more tired and colder and weaker. It's not that sudden. But it's gone, over the last few months, from being something only he could feel to something everyone around him notices now.

  
A slow fade.

  
“Hey.” Mitch claims his attention by giving his hand a squeeze. He seems to sense Scott's less than cheerful thoughts. “You're okay.”

  
It sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than he's trying to convince Scott, but it helps all the same. Scott nods as if to help with the convincing, then clears his throat. “We’re not very good at this, are we?”

  
“Not very good at what?” Mitch asks in confusion.

  
Scott makes a small gesture with his hand. “I wanted to be out here talking about anything else but my bum heart.”

  
Mitch looks like he's struggling between being amused and appalled. “Your-” he starts and then stops, thinking hard. “Okay.”

  
“Okay?”

  
A smile that's brighter and warmer than the sun lights up Mitch's face and Scott can't help but smile too. Then Mitch disappears as he flops back down next to Scott, making sure that they're as close as possible. “So let's start over then.”

  
Scott goes back to staring up at the sky. Waiting.

  
“This was a good idea.”

  
He smiles. Again. “I told you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New rules, as long as the word comes into play once during the chapter, it works. Yes? Yes. Please. Help me.


	14. Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, sorry, it's been a while. I've been dealing with stuff and haven't felt that well. I hope this was okay? I'm trying to get back on track because even when I don't feel like something is my bet work, it does help to write. I'm sorry.

**XIV.  Green.**

 

Everything is so alive right now. The flowers are in full bloom, splashing bright colors all over the place. Orange tulips, red carnations, yellow daffodils, and purple orchids brighten up the parks and sidewalks, decorate shop windows and the porches of nearly every home. The sun rises and with it, the birds sing their gentle song, encouraging a sleeping world to wake once again. Mitch sees a baby bunny the day he goes out with Scott. The grass. The bushes. The trees. Everything is so green. 

He kind of hates it.

It's all just a reminder. A reminder of how fragile and unfair life actually is. Hidden beneath all the beauty and the light, there's a dark, chilling underside that makes him want to pull the covers over his head and sleep for forty six days. Or more. Forever seems a bit extreme but it seems more and more desirable with each day that passes.

Everything ends. He's not stupid. He's known this since he was four years old and he found his pet goldfish Scruffy floating belly up in the tank just days after his birthday.  And of course, as he's grown older, he's been made more aware that no one lives forever whether they're a goldfish or his grandfather. That just doesn't make it easy. Knowing something and feeling something are completely different things.

Still. His grandfather was ninety-seven. Scott is twenty-five. It's not the same thing.

“Scott's not dying,” Kevin says when Mitch mentions this to him over coffee one morning. And Mitch can only stare at him because he sounds like he actually believes this without a single doubt.

“Kevin,” he says, doing his best to swallow the ugly feeling of resentment that rises in his chest. Lately, if he's not wanting to cry his eyes out he's finding it really difficult to not lash out at anyone who looks at him strangely. “His heart is failing.”

Kevin wavers for a split second, his eyes dropping to the coffee cupped between his hands. His shoulders drop a bit and a minuscule sigh escapes his lips. Body language. After all these years, it's pretty easy to pick up on no matter how small the cues. But it's only for the blink of an eye and then Kevin straightens his broad shoulders and lifts his head to look straight at Mitch. “I know,” he says evenly.

“Then,” Mitch looks away, slightly unnerved by the calm in the other’s voice. Kevin radiates peace but it's like Mitch is on the other side of a glass wall and he's still stuck deep in his own suffocating pool of panic and blind fear. “How can you-”

“I just know,” Kevin says simply, making Mitch want to scream.  _ How?  _ “I just. . . I think I would feel it if. . .”

“If what?” Mitch demands. The birds outside are way too loud and it takes all his concentration to focus on Kevin's words and finding an acceptable response to them.

Kevin turns his gaze to stare out the window and Mitch can't help but follow his gaze. “I think he'll be okay, Mitchy. I really do. I can't explain it. It's just a feeling. I think God is gonna let us keep him.”

It rained yesterday so everything is especially bright. The green of the grass almost makes Mitch's eyes hurt. He stares at a robin hopping under the picnic tables, searching hopefully for a few crumbs. He seems overly cheerful, a trait in birds that Mitch often notices. They can't have too much to worry about if they're always singing. Is his envy of birds a sort of existential crisis?

Kevin's faith is important to him. Mitch knows this and normally he respects it, but now he feels isolated and angry at the entire world. He has a million biting questions dancing at the tip of his tongue but he holds them inside, letting the fire in his chest burn steadily. “Must be nice.”

He feels Kevin's hand reach over the table and settle on his arm. A familiar burning of his eyes makes Mitch blink several times. “I'm still scared if that makes sense,” he confesses quietly.

“It doesn't.”

Kevin laughs quietly and Mitch almost, almost, smiles. Kevin's laugh is too infectious. “I believe, for the most part, that Scotty is gonna be okay. But I have my share of moments too, Mitch. Those times when I look at him and I feel so afraid that I just want to scream or punch something.”

Mitch starts a little at the thought of Kevin hitting anything. He turns away from the window, back to his friend, and finds something comforting in his brown eyes. Something familiar.

“I can't sleep at all some nights because I'm so worried about it,” Kevin confesses. “And some nights, I do sleep but then I wake up because I dream that things get really bad and-” his voice breaks unexpectedly and he lets the sentence fall away before beginning completely anew. “I believe that he's going to be okay because I have to. Because if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to function like a normal human being.”

“It's not fair,” Mitch says quietly. He knows his words are the words of a three year old but he can't help himself. “It's not fair that it's him. There are millions of terrible people out there. Monsters, Kevin. How and why is Scott the one with the heart that just decided to quit? He's a good person. It doesn't make any sense.”

“I know,” Kevin replies.  

“And what about all the people who are living until they're four hundred years old?” Mitch continues to vent his frustrations, feeling only a little bad about complaining that perfectly good people live so long. “That's how it's supposed to work, isn't it? Dying young is-” The lump in his throats nearly chokes him and he has to pause. “Dying youth is stupid,” he finishes in a weak whisper.

“I know.”

“I always thought that. . .”

“I know.” Kevin's quietness is both reassuring and frustrating. Reassuring because Mitch is glad he's not the only one who feels overwhelmed and confused, but frustrating because he wants someone to have the answers.

“I hate it.”

“I know.” And Kevin looks so heartbroken for a moment that Mitch almost loses it right then and there in the coffee shop. They both look away, turning again to stare out the window.

The robin is still hopping optimistically around and Mitch notices that there's a nest perched comfortably in the arms of a tree planted along the edge of the sidewalk. People are coming and going in a steady stream but the bird doesn't seem to be bothered by the bustle. If anything he seems excited for it, waiting for handouts. Mitch finds himself wondering if he has a family.

It's stupid, being so wrapped up in his thoughts of a bird when he's hardly ever noticed birds before. But it's an escape of sorts. A distraction from reality and Mitch welcomes it. That is until he sees the robin flit up in the air and directly to the nest with some sort of crumbs trapped tightly in his beak. Suddenly, he wants to go home too.

“Can we go?” he asks, an invisible hand tightening around his neck in a viselike grip. The desire to be home with Scott trips unsteadily on the border of being full-blown panic and he wants to cry. Over a stupid bird. He hates himself.

Kevin is already on his feet, sensing Mitch's urgent need. He's the picture of steady calm as he fishes a couple of bills from his pocket to leave as tip, his other arm snaking around Mitch's shoulders. “Let's go.”

They're literally a block away from his and Scott's apartment, but Mitch feels so weak and jittery that he's not sure how he'd get home without Kevin. Walking feels unnatural on legs that seem almost too jelly-like to support him much less carry him from one location to the other. The sensation isn't welcome at all but it is familiar. He's on the verge of a panic attack. Over a bird.

Mitch's vision is tunneled as he trips along, Kevin's arm holding hmm upright better than his own legs. Kevin is talking too, but Mitch can only hear his voice. He can't distinguish any words. Nevertheless, it keeps him grounded enough to function until they reach the apartment.

Kirstie is at the kitchen counter when they walk in. She instantly reads the situation when she looks up and her eyes are full of sympathy as she nods down the hall. “He's asleep.”

Asleep. God, he's sleeping so much these days. Mitch slides out from under Kevin's arm and somehow makes it on his own to Scott's bedroom door. He can hear Kevin and Kirstie talking quietly behind him but he can only focus on one thing right now.

He looks too pale, though Mitch likes to tell himself it's because of the lighting. And the dark circles underneath his eyes are just shadows. He can't account for why his best friend seems to have shrunk however, hidden underneath the heavy comforter. Nor can he shrug off the fact that it's too warm to be under any blankets at all and Scott is curled up like he's still cold.

As scary as it is to face that reality of how Scott's illness has affected him, Mitch finds it easier to breathe almost immediately. He lets out a deep sigh and sinks down on the edge of the bed. His hand hovers awkwardly in the air before settling carefully on Scott's forehead, checking for a fever at first and then combing through his blonde hair.

“I missed you,” he whispers. He and Kevin were out for less than an hour, but the suppressed separation anxiety had come crashing to the surface in a way that leaves Mitch feeling worn out.

Slowly, quietly, he lays down beside Scott. The tightness in his chest fades as if it never existed and his whole body goes limp with relief. Scott may be asleep but just his presence is more than enough to relax Mitch.

“I missed you,” he whispers again, finding one of Scott's hand last under the covers. “I missed you so much.”

Maybe it's just his imagination, a desperate hallucination of sorts that his exhausted mind dreams up, but Mitch is almost positive that Scott squeezes his hand.

 


	15. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out promising and turned into a mess and in really sorry that keeps happening. I'm writing this because it's sort of helping with stuff so??? I really really am so sorry.

**XIV. Blue.**

“Hey!”

The bounciness in Scott's voice surprises Mitch. He feels a genuine smile spread across his face and looks up. “Hey,” he replies happily. “What's up?”

Scott looks good today. It's one of his better days. The kind where it's still pretty easy to tell that he's sick, but not seriously. A little pale, a little tired, but he's smiling and is bright eyed. It's like he's getting over a nasty cold and sooner rather than later, he'll be back to normal.

“I found something the other day that I wanted to show you.” Leaning over him, Scott taps Mitch on the head with a small book. “Sit up. Scoot over.”

Mitch's eyes widen. “You were reading?” he asks, feigning utter astonishment. He laughs and ducks another swing of the book. “This is, what, the first book you've opened since senior year?” He sits up, eyeing the book warily.

Scott shrugs, offering Mitch a lopsided grin before he takes the empty space on the couch. “Probably. “I remembered how to do it though.”

His shirt looks big on him. Mitch rushes to push the thought away but it's not as easy as he wants it to be, especially sitting so closely. The material hangs loosely over his shoulders and his chest. Maybe it's because Scott has always been a giant in Mitch's mind, but it's impossible to ignore completely. He focuses on the book in Scott's hand instead, brow furrowing in genuine confusion. “Is this. . . Greek?”

“Hey, I read The Odyssey, you know.”

“I thought Kirstie just gave you her notes.”

“Stooop!” Scott protests in an overly dramatic while that draws a small laugh from Mitch. “Just. Shut up and let me read this to you, okay? Avi picked it up at a flea market the other day and told me it was better than the Internet.”

Ah, Wise Avi. Mitch gets so wrapped up in taking care of Scott and making sure he's feeling well, running him back and forth from the hospital to home, making sure he eats enough and sleeps enough, that he often lets that one part slip his mind. It's been months since Scott's diagnosis rocked their world and four of them have completely moved on from Pentatonix as if it had never happened. Scott's more stubborn than the rest of them put together. He also happens to suck at moving forward. In any case, Mitch is grateful that Avi at least, seems to be on top of that particular issue.

“Ready?” Scott has shifted his position on the couch, sitting cross legged and facing Mitch. Automatically, Mitch copies his position, sitting close enough for their knees to touch. Mitch concentrates hard on the book in Scott's hand, listening to him.

“So apparently the Greeks were really into the whole concept of love. They had stories, poetry, music, you name of it, they had it. I guess you could say they were a bunch of big romantics. But did you know that there wasn't just one kind of love for them?”

Scott actually pauses, waiting for him to respond but Mitch is caught completely off guard. It's not totally unusually for Scott to bring something up out of the blue like this and expect him to follow along with ease, but what is different is the depth of the conversation he's starting. Mitch hesitates, uncertain as to how he should reply.

“I didn't?”

“Neither did I!” Scott exclaims with such intensity that Mitch takes his gaze away from the book and up to his friend’s face. He looks astonished and frustrated at the same time. “Think of it though, Mitchy. We say we love our friends and our family and then we turn around and use that same word for how we feel about cheese or Starbucks. We turned something so beautiful and so full of meaning and turned into something more clichéd and desensitized. How sad is that?”

A sick feeling, all too familiar by now, worms it's way in the pit of Mitch's stomach. This is the kind of conversation they'd have on New Year’s Eve, so drunk that they don't know which way is up. He doesn't like it so much in the middle of April, stone cold sober. “Scott-”

“Listen!” Scott says softly, holding up one finger. The Greeks had four different ways to describe love. Four different loves. Eros, romantic love. Like Kirstie and Jeremy. Storge, family loyalty. Then there's Phileo, which is the love between friends.”

“Are you saying we should have called ourselves Phileo instead of Pentatonix?” Mitch asks, joking nervously as he licks his dry lips. His chest tightens uncomfortably and his throat has that stupid lump stuck inside it. He notices his hands are balled into tight fists and he forces them to flatten out until his palms rest on his knees.

A distracted smile lifts up one corner of Scott's mouth and he shakes his head. “No, silly. Let me finish. That's only three.”

Romantic. Family. Friendship. Mitch isn't a genius by any stretch of the imagination but he isn't a complete idiot either. He has a sort of idea forming in his head as to what's next. And he really wants to be wrong because he's just not going to like it.

“The last is agape,” Scott tells him and Mitch tries to hide a wince because he's heard that term before. “and it's unconditional. It's forever love, Mitch. Real forever love. Nothing can change or end it. Not even. . . And it's how I love you.”

“Stop.” Mitch feels terrible for protesting because it obviously means a lot to Scott, but he can't help but feel that there's a layer underneath his words. A layer that Mitch doesn't want to understand or even to think about.

Scott reaches for his hand.

Love. Mitch loves the color blue. The blue of the sky on a cloudless day. The blue of a crystal clear lake. The blue of Scott's eyes. He loves the way Scott’s hand feels in his, so much bigger and stronger even now. He loves the way it, the way he, make him feel safe. He loves Scott. But if admitting that kind of love also means admitting something else, then he's not ready for it. “I love you too,” he says, almost reluctantly. He says it because Scott needs him to say it. “I love you just like that.”

For just an instant, Scott looks down and bites his lip, a nervous habit of his that Mitch has always loved. “I know,” he begins slowly. “I know that this is already a mess of me being completely corny and making you feel bad and sad, and I’m so sorry, Mitch, but-”

“No,” Mitch interrupts gently with a quick shake of his head. “No, I’m fine. Promise. Say whatever you need to say, Scott. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

He can tell that Scott doesn’t believe him and there’s a part of him that wants that to be reason enough for the conversation to come to an end. But he steels himself, giving Scott’s hand a reassuring squeeze as he waits. “It’s okay,” he repeats. Even if he’s not.

“I just wanted to say,” Scott says the first part in a rush of air and then seems to lose his courage. He stops again, glancing down at their hands. “I love you no matter what happens.”

Tears fill Mitch's eyes and he can't stop a few from escaping. He sniffs loudly and uses his other hand to wipe them away. Scott looks pained at the sight of his tears but his own eyes are dry and that scares Mitch for some reason. Why does he want Scott to cry?

Before he can give too much thought to it, Scott lets go of Mitch's hand to pull him into a full embrace. Mitch tucks his head underneath his chin, letting the tears fall unchecked now. He closes his eyes and concentrates hard. It won't make any of this disappear but it might lift some of the heavy weight off if only for a moment.

But it doesn't work. He can't shake the grief this time. He can't shove down the horrible thoughts and the clenching panic and the gut wrenching loneliness he feels whenever the thoughts get the best of them. It's worse than ever and it only takes a minute before he realizes why.

The layer hidden underneath Scott's “I love you.” sounds a lot like “Goodbye.” 


	16. Purple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI. A most genuine thanks to both old and new readers for putting up with me and my inability to function as a proper or decent human being. I really really mean it. It's so appreciated.

**XVI**. **Purple**.

Mitch is sleeping. Finally. He so rarely gets any rest at all these days. Scott can literally count on one hand the number of times he's actually seen his best friend sleeping in the past month. And okay, yes, that's also because Scott himself spends more time sleeping than he does awake lately, but still. He avoids the mirror because he hates seeing the ghost staring back at him, but now it seems like all he has to do is look at Mitch and the ghost is there, haunting him all the same.

Scott leans over and carefully pries the book out of Mitch's hands, relieved when this does nothing to interrupt the deep and regular breathing pattern. He adjusts the blanket so that it's laying more evenly over Mitch's shoulders and then gently smooths his dark hair over his forehead so that it's not resting directly over his eyes.

Scott is tired too. Big surprise there. He's always tired. But it's a different kind of fatigue than the one he's always known. It's not the same exhaustion he uses to get when they were on tour. The mind-numbing exhaustion that made his entire body feel like a thin thread on the verge of snapping in half. He'd give anything to have that back.

No, this is more of a weariness that he can't shake no matter how much he sleeps. It clings to him like a spider web, holding him hostage, wrapping tighter and tighter the more he struggles against it. It's unbelievably frustrating. And scary. But Scott knows how to deal with the frustration better so he lets himself feel and acknowledge that part more than he does the fear.

He tugs the extra blanket from over the edge of the couch and wraps it around himself, enjoying its warmth. Settling down at the end where Mitch's head is, Scott gazes wistfully outside the window. He feels like a prisoner of his own home sometimes and if he's being honest he wonders if that's what will kill him in the end rather than his stupid heart. He's never been claustrophobic but each passing day seems to bring the walls closer in around him. Sure, he gets outside practically every day but he doesn't go far and he doesn't do much. Everything is exhausting.

His phone buzzes and as quickly as he can without disturbing Mitch, Scott eases it out of his pocket and glances at the screen. Kirstie.

_Okay if I stop by for a while?_

A frown creases his forehead. Not that he ever minds seeing anyone, especially Kirstie these days. It's not like it's just him and Mitch day in and day out. They all stop by at some point, sometimes together and sometimes in shifts. It used to feel awkward as they all adjusted to the new dynamics and routine, but now it feels natural and is always a welcome part of the day. But Kirstie never asks. She always tells. If Scott is too tired then she hangs out with Mitch while he sleeps. It's not like visitation is limited exclusively to him, thank god. Mitch needs the company just as much as he does, maybe even more so sometimes.

He quickly replies to Kirstie, welcoming her to please come because Mitch is asleep and he's bored out of his mind, pretending that it's him and not her who might need something. Kirstie's like that. She always has been. She hates to feel like a burden, hates the idea of putting her needs before the needs of anyone else. She's too selfless. Scott wishes he were more like her.

The soft knock on the door comes within a few minutes, soon enough that he expects she was already on her way before she even texted him. Mitch is still sleeping soundly as Scott gets up to let her in.

“Hi,” she says, a shaky smile on her face. Immediately he notices the watery, reddened look of her eyes and the way she doesn't quite look at him.

“C’mere.” Scott reaches out and takes her hand, tugging her gently inside and shutting the door. With a backward glance at Mitch, still sleeping thank god, he wraps his arm around Kirstie's small shoulders and leads her down the hall to his room.

The words “what's wrong?” have yet to leave his lips when she breaks. Panicking slightly at her tears, Scott isn't sure what to do at first. He's known her since freshman year, he's seen her cry plenty of times before. Hell, in the past few months he's seen her cry more than he has in all the years they've been friends. But today is different somehow. It's unexpected and that worries him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “What’s going on?”

She wipes hastily at the tears on her face and tries to laugh. “It's nothing, really. Stupid. I'm sorry. I just-”

“Kirstie,” Scott interrupts gently. He hands her a couple of tissues and rubs her back, waiting until she has at least some composure. “Hey, if you're upset, then it's something. And that something matters.”

He means every word, but he's a tiny bit hesitant. He's afraid that she's upset about him again, and if he's honest with himself, he's running out of things to say. He can't promise anyone that he's going to live forever. He can't even promise that he's going to live another year for crying out loud. It's a day to day kind of thing and it drives him crazy. So he braces himself for whatever Kirstie might say and still he's caught off guard.

“It's the wedding.”

Oh. The bitter taste of guilt rises in the back of Scott's mouth and he tries to swallow it down. He's forgotten all about the wedding. In the beginning, when he was getting used to being an invalid (he so wishes he could use that word to describe himself and be accused of sounding over dramatic), she came by with magazines and brochures and notebooks and they planned fantasy wedding after fantasy wedding. But then he started actually feeling bad and it all sort of fell by the wayside. His illness took precedence over her wedding and Scott hates himself for that.

Not that he'd never let her know. Biting his lip, Scott concentrates on keeping his expression neutral. “What about it?” he asks, voice betraying him and it shakes just a little bit. It's enough.

Kirstie sniffs. “Jeremy and I had a fight because he wants to talk about it and I. . . I don't.”

Great. So not only is he complicating the wedding, he's complicating his best friend’s relationship with her fiancé as well. “Kirstie, I'm so sorry. What-”

She just shakes her head and tries another weak laugh but it's even more heartbreaking than it was the first time. “He asked if I had actually decided on anything. Not demanded or anything, he was just. . . curious. And hopeful I think. He asked if I needed help and I said I didn't really want to think about it right now. So he asked when I wanted to think about it and-” She cuts herself off abruptly and lifts both of her hands. “I told him that it was the furthest thing from my mind. He's not angry. His feelings are just hurt. I think that's worse though.”

Jeremy is literally the only person in the entire world who comes close to deserving Kirstie. Okay, he totally deserves her. But Scott will only admit this very grudgingly. And he'll still side with her every single time.

Except maybe this time.

“Kirstie, you know there's nothing wrong with planning your wedding, right? I mean like actually planning it, not the kind of joke stuff we did in the beginning of all of this.”

He tries to say this as gentle as possible but she still looks at him, a hurt expression on her face. “How could I?” she whispers. “How could I think about planning what's supposed to be the happiest day of my life when all of this is happening to one of my best friends?”

Scott tries to take her hand, but she scoots a little further away from him and he takes the hint. “Kirstie-” he attempts to talk to her but she's having none of it.

“How can I think about bridesmaids or choose between purple or green dresses, or whether or not I should have a lemon or a chocolate cake when you-”

“Purple.” Scott interrupts, desperate to smoothe things over but also just as desperate to encourage Kirstie to talk as much as she needs to. He gives her a small smile when all she does at first is just stare at him. “And chocolate. Always purple. Always chocolate. Especially if it's a lilac shade and dark chocolate.”

She doesn't pull away when he reaches over to her a second time. Instead she wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater and leans into his embrace. “You're so dumb,” she whispers tearfully. “I don't know how I'm supposed to talk with you about all of this. I feel terrible for making it about me and I know you don't want me to, but that's easier said than done, Scotty. I'm just. . . I'm so afraid.”

Afraid. God, he's so unbelievably terrified that he won't even get to see her get married which is why he has to side with Jeremy. It's why he wants to press the issue and not in a joking manner. He doesn't want to miss a thing nor does he want her to get married in a courtroom with a handful of witnesses and a ten dollar bouquet of flowers from the grocery store. She deserves so much more than that. She deserves the world on a silver platter and he wants to be a part of it.

“I can help you,” he tells her optimistically. “For real this time, Kirstie. It's not like I can do much of anything these days. Even if I could I would still want to drop everything and help you. But now at least I'll have something to do! I'll have something to look forward to!”

He winces inwardly. He's not trying to manipulate her into feeling so guilty that she does what he asks. He doesn't want her wedding to become her guilt trip imposed on her by him. He's being honest.

He finds a little bit of relief in knowing that Kirstie seems to understand. Her eyes fill with pain as she tries her best to smile at him. “I don't know,” she says honestly. “I want to, but at the same time, I don't want to.”

Scott's door opens just then and Mitch pokes his head in. His tired, anxious features relax as soon as he sees Scott and Kirstie. “Oh,” he says, trying to sound casual. “I was wondering where you were.”

Scott can't help but roll his eyes. “There's about three different places to look these days,” he replies dryly. “How was your nap?”

“Poor baby. My nap was actually pretty great, thanks very much. Seven out of ten.” Mitch pats the top of his head and then joins them on the bed, crossing his legs and looking to Kirstie. “So what's up?” he asks, allowing his brown eyes to soften in concern.

Kirstie gives him a brave smile. “Wedding drama,” she tells him. “Purple or pink dresses?”

“Purple,” Mitch says without a second thought. “Always purple."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm kind of working on a sort of side project that is my attempt at working through some things. We'll see? We'll see.


End file.
